LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DICGO 


presented  to  the 

LIBRARY 

•,RSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  •  SAN  DII 
by 

FRIENDS  OF  THE  LIBRARY 


MRS.   E.   LAIRD  LANDON 


donor 


WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 
IN  CALIFORNIA 


WITH  THE  FLOWERS 

AND  TREES  IN 

CALIFORNIA 


BY 
CHARLES  FRANCIS  SAUNDERS 

Author  of  "Under  the  Sky  in  California,"  "A  Window 
in  Arcady,"  Etc. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  FLOWERS  IN  COLOR  BY 
ELISABETH  HALLOWELL  SAUNDERS 


NEW  YORK 

McBRIDE,  NAST  &  COMPANY 
1914 


Copyright,    1914,    by 
McBaiDE,  NAST  &  Co. 


Published  September,  1914 


E.  H.  8. 

To  her  dear  memory  icho  shared  with  me 
These  flower-girt  trails  beside  the  sunset  sea, 
This  book  I  offer,  fain  somewhat  to  tell 
Of  that  sweet  sisterhood  she  loved  so  well — 
She  for  whom  now  there  blooms  pale  asphodel. 


PREFACE 

In  preparing  the  following  pages  (which  the 
scientific  student,  if  he  deigns  to  dip  into  them  at 
all,  will  probably  think  sadly  trivial  at  times),  the 
author  has  by  no  means  intended  to  cover  the  en- 
tire field  of  California  plant  life.  Bather  has  he 
sought  merely  to  touch  in  an  informal  sort  of  way 
upon  certain  characteristic  features  that  enlist  the 
interest  of  those  travelers  to  whom  the  State's  won- 
derful floral  and  arboreal  life,  indigenous  and  ex- 
otic, makes  any  appeal  at  all. 

In  doing  this,  the  author  has  tried  to  revive  as 
vividly  as  may  be,  the  memory  of  his  own  delight 
and  inquisitiveness  when,  twelve  years  ago,  his  eyes 
first  beheld  the  gardens  wild  and  cultivated  of  the 
State  which,  of  all  our  Commonwealths,  is  to  Flora 
the  most  hospitable  and  by  her  the  most  favored; 
and  to  set  down  the  answer  as  well  as  he  can  to 
many  questions  which  naturally  arose  in  his  mind 
then  and  which  are  on  the  lips  of  many  tourists  and 
residents  alike,  to-day. 

If  the  subjects  seem  at  times  to  be  treated  some- 


PREFACE 

what  airily,  it  is  hoped  that  it  will  not  be  assumed 
that  they  have  therefore  been  handled  carelessly. 
Pains  have  been  taken  to  verify  all  facts  of  which 
the  author  has  not  personal  knowledge.  Certain 
pages  have  required  much  delving  in  the  dust  of 
forgotten  records,  both  English  and  Spanish,  all 
but  inaccessible  to  the  general  reader;  and  some 
facts  gleaned  in  this  way  are  now,  it  is  believed, 
presented  for  the  first  time  in  a  popular  style. 

To  the  many  friends  and  correspondents  who 
have  in  manifold  ways  assisted  the  author  in  his 
pleasant  labor,  he  takes  this  means  of  extending  his 
cordial  thanks.  Particularly  does  he  desire  to  ex- 
press his  obligations  to  Miss  N.  M.  Buss,  Librarian 
of  the  Pasadena  Public  Library,  and  to  Mr.  S.  B. 
Parish  of  San  Bernardino,  kindest  of  friends  and 
best  of  botanists. 

C.  F.  S. 

Pasadena,  California,  1914. 


CONTENTS 


PACT 

I    IN  THE  FOOTSTEPS  OF  EABLY  COLLECTORS 1 

How  the  Virgin  Flora  Looked  in  the  Padres'  Days  .  2 

The  Man  of  Grass,  Old  Curious  and  Fremont  ...  13 

II    TBEES  OF  THE  CALIFORNIA  WAYSIDE  AND  WHERE  THEY 

CAME  FROM 26 

Palms  and  Peppers 27 

The  Eucalypts 35 

Shade  Trees  That  Are  Leafless  and  Others  ....  41 

III  PLANT  IMMIGRANTS  IN  THE  GOLDEN  STATE 51 

IV  THEE  HUNTING  ON  A  CALIFORNIA  DESERT 66 

V    SPRING  ON  THE  MESA 89 

The  First  Wild  Flowers 90 

The  California  Poppy  and  Its  Cousins 102 

Chaparral  and  Bee-Pasture     .    , 109 

Soap  from  Bushes 120 

VI    INDIAN  USES  OF  CALIFORNIA  PLANTS 125 

Pine-nuts  and  Acorns 125 

Indian  Potatoes  and  Pinole 130 

Mescal  de   Comer 137 

Doctor   Flora 139 

Plants  of  the  Weavers  and  the  Basket  Makers  .      .      .148 

VII    THE  SEQUOIA  AND  ITS  ADVENTURES  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  NAME  153 

VIII    A  CHAT  ABOUT  CALIFORNIA  FERNS 168 

IX    GARDENS  OF  THE  SPANISH-CALIFORNIANS 185 

At  Dona  Margarita's 185 

Old  Mission  Gardens  and  Ranch  Patios    .                  .  192 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

X    ON  CERTAIN  CALIFORNIA  SPECIALTIES  AND  RABITIES  .     .  204 

Three  Rare  Conifers 208 

Madrono  and  Laurel  Silvestre 213 

Among  the  Tarweeds  in  the   Sierras 217 

XI    BIBLE  PLANTS  IN  CALIFORNIA 228 

XII    BLOSSOM  TIME  IN  THE  ORCHARDS 245 

XIII    SOME  CHARACTERISTIC  GARDEN  FLOWERS  AND  SHRUBS  .     .  256 


THE  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  COLOR 

Pink  sand  verbena,  Colorado  Desert  of  Cali- 
fornia       Frontispiece 


A  typical  California  poppy  field 2 

Seven  California  wild  flowers 90 

(Mariposa  tulip,  prickly  phlox,  brodiasa,  scarlet 
bugler,  monkey  flower,  California  poppy,  owl's 
clover.) 

A  group  of  five  California  wild  flowers 106 

(A  desert  ox-eye,  wild  heliotrope,  the  primrose  of 
the  desert,  creosote  bush,  chia.) 


THE  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  HALF-TONE 


A  stone 's  throw  from  the  desert  a  fine  orchid  is  growing    10 

Monterey  cypress 18 

A  pepper  tree  walk 28 

Avenue  of  blue-gums 36 

Blackwood  acacia 44 

Vine-embowered  cottage 52 

Tree  yucca,  Mojave  Desert 68 

Smoke  tree 76 

One  of  the  most  vicious  cacti 84 

Sierra  snow  plant 98 

Wild  lilac 98 

A  roadside  bank  carpeted  with  marigold     ....  114 

California  soap-root 122 

Cones  of  three  largest  California  trees 122 

Toluache,  a  famous  Indian  narcotic 130 

Creosote  bush 138 

Drinking  from  a  barrel  cactus 146 

A  coast  live  oak 154 

Elderberry 154 

Alkaline  pool,  Colorado  Desert  of  California  .  .  .  170 
A  Pasadena  bungalow  "under  the  rose"  ....  186 
California  fan  palms  lining  a  ranch  roadway  .  .  .  194 

Mexican  gathering  tunas 206 

Yucca  Whipplei 216 

In  a  forest  of  native  fan  palms,  Palm  Canon     .     .     .  230 

Jacaranda  tree 246 

Ocotillo,  or  candlewood 252 

The  monkey-puzzle  tree  of  Chile 252 


WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 
IN  CALIFORNIA 


WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 
IN  CALIFORNIA 

i 

IN  THE  FOOTSTEPS  OF  EARLY  COLLECTORS 

SITTING  in  an  easy  chair  of  a  winter's  night,  the 
lamp  aglow  at  my  elbow  and  the  fire  crackling 
on  the  hearth  before  my  toasting  feet,  I  find  an 
especial  fascination  in  reading  of  the  adventures  of 
pioneers  carving  their  heroic  way  through  the  vir- 
gin forests  and  across  the  unmapped  plains  and 
deserts  of  this  New  World.  I  prefer  particularly 
some  personal  narrative  of  the  actors  themselves, 
setting  forth  in  straightforward,  simple  phrase- 
ology what  they  themselves  saw,  did,  suffered  and 
enjoyed,  rather  than  the  embellished  histories  of 
the  closet  historians,  or  the  fanciful  narratives  of 
avowed  romances.  To  work  out  on  the  map,  for 
instance,  the  routes  traversed  by  Fremont  or  Juan 
Bautista  Anza,  where  white  men  had  not  set  foot 
before ;  to  put  a  finger  on  the  spot  where  their  mot- 
ley caravans  crossed  such  and  such  a  river,  their 
i 


2  WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

flimsy  rafts  perhaps  upheld  by  swimming  Indians, 
or  where,  accepting  the  challenge  of  the  rock-ribbed 
sierra,  they  conquered  it  by  some  heart-breaking 
pass  unknown  till  then;  to  read  their  comments 
upon  the  strange  plants  and  animals  that  they  en- 
countered, and  to  guess  what  their  pioneerish  names 
stand  for  in  the  exact  nomenclature  of  our  own  day 
— all  this  makes  rare  diversion  for  an  indoor  reader 
with  a  taste  for  the  open  air. 

How  the  Virgin  Flora  Looked  in  ihe  Padres'  Days 

So  far  as  any  one  knows,  the  first  white  men  to 
look  upon  this  flowery  land  that  we  call  California, 
were  the  Portuguese  navigator,  Juan  Rodriguez 
Cabrillo  and  his  mariners,  sailing  in  Spain's  service 
for  the  purpose  of  discovery.  The  log  of  Cabrillo 
is  extant  and  from  it  we  learn  that  in  the  autumn 
of  1542  he  landed  at  what  is  now  San  Diego  and 
upon  some  of  the  islands  along  the  coast.  There 
is  nothing,  however,  in  this  record  to  indicate  that 
the  plant  life  of  the  country  appeared  to  him  note- 
worthy, and  probably  at  that  dun  season  of  the  year 
it  did  not. 

The  next  expedition  to  make  a  landing  on  Califor- 
nia soil,  appears  to  have  been  that  celebrated  one 
of  Sir  Francis  Drake,  who  in  June  and  July,  1579, 
stopped  for  a  few  weeks  in  a  little  harbor  near  the 


IN  CALIFORNIA  3 

Golden  Gate,  at  first  believed  to  have  been  the  Bay 
of  San  Francisco,  but  identified  by  modern  his- 
torians as  the  neighboring  Drake's  Bay.  From  the 
diary  of  Drake's  chaplain,  a  certain  fanciful  Fran- 
cis Fletcher,  one  gleans  little  that  is  now  recogniza- 
ble of  California  natural  history.  "How  unhand- 
some and  deformed,"  he  complains,  "appeared  the 
face  of  the  earthe  itselfe,  shewing  trees  without 
leaves  and  the  ground  without  greennesse.  ...  In 
the  middest  of  their  summer,  the  snow  hardly  de- 
parteth  even  from  their  doores,  but  is  never  taken 
away  from  their  hills  at  all."  Evidently  the  sum- 
mer of  1579  was  an  " unusual"  one,  as  a  modern 
Californian  would  put  it,  or,  what  is  more  likely, 
the  plain-spoken  Drake  was  right  when  he  described 
his  chaplain  as  "the  lyingest  knave  that  lived." 

The  account  of  the  Spaniard  Viscaino,  who  in 
November,  1602,  cast  anchor  in  the  harbor  of  San 
Diego,  contains  a  few  sentences  bearing  on  plant- 
life,  that  possess  interest.  His  men  explored  a 
tongue  of  hilly  land — plainly  the  noble  promontory 
now  called  Point  Loma,  which  throws  a  protecting 
arm  around  San  Diego  Bay.  A  couple  of  genera- 
tions ago  there  was  a  tradition  among  San  Diegans 
that  this  point,  now  bare  of  native  tree  growth,  was 
once  well  wooded,  and  Viscaino 's  record  confirms 
this.  His  explorers,  he  says,  "found  on  the  hill 


4  WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

considerable  oak  wood,  other  trees  which  seemed 
like  rosemary  (otros  drboles  que  se  parecian  al 
romero),  and  some  fragrant  and  wholesome  herbs." 
That  reference  to  a  tree  resembling  rosemary 
(romero)  is  very  tantalizing,  for  one  would  mightily 
like  to  know  just  what  one  that  was,  of  all  the  Cali- 
fornia sisterhood  of  plants,  that  first  found  favor 
enough  in  pioneer  eyes  to  be  mentioned  in  the  rec- 
ord. Viscaino  called  it  an  "arbol,"  a  word  that  is 
usually  Englished  as  "tree,"  but  is  also  applicable 
to  a  shrub.  To-day  upon  those  southern  hills,  there 
grow  at  least  two  shrubby  plants  whose  haunting 
fragrance  of  leaf  might  have  reminded  those  Span- 
ish wanderers  of  the  rosemary  of  their  Mediter- 
ranean homeland.  One  is  a  sort  of  sage  known 
to  botanists  as  Audibertia  Clevelandi;  and  the  other, 
which  bears  foliage  very  like  our  rosemary,  is  the 
Spanish  Calif  ornian's  "romero  de  la  sierra," 
mountain  rosemary,  or,  botanically,  Trichostema 
lanatum.  In  default  of  exact  description, — for  there 
was  no  scientist  with  Viscaino 's  expedition, — it  is 
anybody's  guess  now,  and  so  it  must  be  left. 

After  Viscaino,  it  is  almost  two  centuries — to  be 
exact,  in  the  spring  of  1769,  with  the  arrival  at  San 
Diego  of  the  first  ship  of  Galvez's  Holy  Expedition 
for  the  settlement  and  Christianization  of  Upper 
California — before  the  curtain  really  rises  upon  the 


IN  CALIFORNIA  5 

beautiful  wild  plant-life  of  the  country.  An  account 
of  the  expedition  was  published  by  one  of  the  offi- 
cers, Don  Miguel  Costanso,  and  the  first  impres- 
sion made  upon  the  storm-tossed,  scurvy-racked 
mariners  by  the  lovely  country,  remained  with  him 
when  he  wrote.  It  was  May,  when  the  ships  ar- 
rived in  San  Diego  Bay,  and  all  the  land  was  "of 
happy  aspect."  There  was  abundance  of  trees  and 
fragrant  shrubs  and  captivating  flowers ;  he  lumped 
them  in  non-botanical  way  as  rosemary,  salvia,  and 
roses  of  Castile ;  but  above  all  was  he  pleased  with 
the  riot  of  wild  grapes  that  were  at  that  season 
blooming  deliciously  in  the  river  bottoms.  Cos- 
tanso, however,  was  a  civil  engineer,  and,  his  first 
enthusiasm  over  the  floral  exuberance  of  the  land 
expended,  he  turned  to  more  practical  matters. 

In  June  arrived  the  arm  of  the  expedition  which 
had  made  the  journey  from  Lower  California  by 
land,  and  with  this  party  came  Padre  Crespi,  who 
also  has  left  matter  of  record — especially  to  our 
purpose  being  a  diary  which  he  kept  of  a  trip  by 
land  that  was  made  northward  from  San  Diego  to 
San  Francisco  Bay,  under  the  leadership  of  Don 
Gaspar  de  Portola,  who  was  to  be  first  governor 
of  Upper  California.  This  exploring  party  left 
San  Diego  on  July  15,  1769,  and  marched  by  easy 
stages,  hugging  the  coast  pretty  closely  and  reach- 


6          WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

ing  the  present  site  of  San  Francisco  in  November 
of  the  same  year.  Their  way  was  over  ground  upon 
which  were  later  to  rise  the  cities  of  Los  Angeles, 
Santa  Barbara,  San  Luis  Obispo,  Monterey,  and 
San  Jose;  and  Crespi's  journal  notes  down  in  brief 
fashion  the  principal  events  of  each  day.  The 
southern  end  of  the  trip,  being  accomplished  in  sum- 
mer, and  when  every  sight  was  still  novel,  was 
marked  with  many  a  pleasant  happening.  There  is 
comfortable  mention  of  grassy  camps  by  cheerful 
"eyes  of  water'* — the  pretty  Spanish  phrase  for 
springs ;  by  rush-fringed  ponds,  and  by  little  streams 
that  came  running  from  happy  dells  embowered  in 
wild  sage  and  rosemary — Viscaino's  rosemary,  per- 
haps. Lovingly  the  Padre  speaks  of  the  rich  wild 
pastures  for  the  comfort  of  the  beasts,  and  of  other 
springs  where  watercresses  floated,  "good  and 
wholesome."1  Infinitude  of  wild  grape  vines 
formed  dense  thickets  in  the  washes,  and  clamber- 

i  There  are  perhaps  a  score  of  references  in  Crespi's  journal  to  the 
presence  of  "beiros"  (water-cresses),  in  streams  all  along  the  coast 
— a  fact  that  should  interest  botanists,  among  whom  there  is  a  dif- 
ference of  opinion  as  to  the  indigenousness  in  California  of  the  com- 
mon water  cress  (Nasturtium  offieinale).  Crespi  might,  of  course, 
have  applied  the  term  to  some  plant  resembling  the  European  cress, 
aa  our  pioneers  were  wont  to  apply  Old  World  names  to  such  New 
World  plants  as  reminded  them  of  those  at  home  and  were  yet  quite 
different.  There  seems  to  be  really  no  indigenous  Californian,  how- 
ever, that  resembles  water  cress  near  enough  to  have  deceived  so 
intelligent  an  observer  as  Crespi  appears  to  have  been. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  7 

ing  to  the  tops  of  trees,  swung  their  purple  clusters 
of  fruit  in  mid-air.  In  places  was  profusion  of  wild 
tuna  cactus,  which,  says  the  Father,  "has  not  failed 
us  in  all  our  journey  from  Lower  California."  One 
wonders  at  this  mild  reference  to  the  spiny  plant 
which  modern  Californians  anathematize  for  a  pest ; 
until  it  is  remembered  that  the  purple  "pears" 
borne  by  the  sort  he  refers  to,  have  always  been  an 
important  article  of  food  to  Indians  and  Mexicans. 
But  of  all  the  native  plants  that  caught  the  Span- 
iards '  eyes,  there  was  none  that  so  enraptured  them 
as  the  wild  roses.  These  Crespi  always  calls  roses 
of  Castile,  and  he  seems  to  register  the  presence 
of  every  thicket  of  them  from  San  Diego  to  San 
Francisco!  "Both  sides  of  our  way,"  he  records 
with  delight  of  a  certain  day,  "were  lined  with  the 
rose  bushes  of  Castile,  from  which  I  broke  one  bunch 
with  six  roses  opened  and  about  twelve  in  bud." 

As  the  cavalcade  advanced,  crushing  in  its  prog- 
ress a  multitude  of  minty  shrubs  whose  perfume 
companions  every  saunterer  to-day  over  the  untrav- 
eled  ways  of  California,  little  valleys  would  now 
and  then  open  up  in  the  semblance  of  cultivated 
fields  by  reason  of  the  trim,  creeping  vines  of  the 
wild  gourd.  Now  there  was  descent  into  pleasant 
arroyos  where  sycamores,  "corpulent"  of  body,  cast 
grateful  shade;  now  hills  were  skirted,  their  sides 


8  WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

dotted  with  live  oaks  looking  from  afar  like  groves 
of  fig  trees  to  eyes  accustomed  to  the  orchards  of 
Spain.  Streams  were  fringed  with  " eyebrows" 
(the  quaint  Spanish  term)  of  willows  and  wild 
blackberries,  and  always  and  again  those  beloved 
roses  of  Castile.  To  the  nightly  camp  came  friendly 
Indians,  bringing,  in  baskets  of  native  weave,  acorns 
and  flour  ground  from  the  wild  seeds  of  the  region. 
Those  would  have  been  halcyon  days  for  the  collec- 
tor of  Indian  baskets,  when  for  a  handful  of  glass 
beads,  he  might  have  had  the  finest  in  California. 

Crespi's  journal  is  naturally  richer  in  its  refer- 
ence to  shrubs  and  trees  than  to  herbaceous  plants 
for  he  was  not  a  professional  botanist ;  and,  besides, 
the  season  was  late  for  any  display  of  floral  beauty. 
In  the  matter  of  trees  his  observations  possess  more 
than  passing  interest.  Besides  the  characteristic 
sycamores  and  live  oaks  of  the  southern  part  of  the 
State,  he  notes,  for  instance,  the  little  wild  walnut 
trees  of  the  San  Fernando  Valley,  of  which  we  may 
still  have  a  glimpse  on  the  hills  near  the  Cahuenga 
Pass  on  the  automobile  highway  that  leads  up  from 
Los  Angeles  to  Santa  Barbara.  Of  greater  interest 
is  the  record  of  finding  that  particular  gem  of  Cali- 
fornia's arboreal  crown,  the  redwood.  On  October 
10,  1769,  near  what  is  now  Santa  Cruz,  they  passed 
over  "plains  and  spreading  hills  covered  with  high 


IN  CALIFORNIA  9 

trees  of  red  wood,  trees  unknown  whose  leaves  dif- 
fer from  cedars,  although  the  wood  and  color  re- 
semble them,  but  yet  very  different  without  having 
the  odor  of  cedar,  and  in  the  trees  we  encountered 
very  brittle.  In  these  regions  they  are  very  abun- 
dant, and  because  nobody  of  the  expedition  knows 
them  they  have  been  named  with  the  name  of  their 
color,"  that  is,  el  Palo  Colorado,  the  Spanish  equiv- 
alent of  the  redwood.  This  is  doubtless  the  first 
record  of  the  sight  of  this  noble  tree  by  white  men. 
In  those  early  days  the  only  practicable  approach 
to  California  was  on  the  ocean  side,  and  the  policy 
of  Spain  prohibited  any  commerce  between  the  prov- 
ince and  foreign  nations.  Consequently  it  remained 
for  many  years  after  the  founding  of  the  first  mis- 
sionary establishments  a  locked  garden  to  the  outer 
world.  Once  in  a  while,  however,  a  foreign  ship, 
on  some  scientific  errand  bent,  put  in  for  stores  or 
repairs.  So,  in  September,  1786,  there  dropped  an- 
chor in  the  port  of  Monterey,  the  ships  of  the  French 
explorer,  Count  de  la  Perouse.  These  vessels  would 
seem  to  have  brought  to  California  the  first  profes- 
sional botanists  to  set  foot  on  the  land.  The  name 
of  one  recorded  in  La  Perouse 's  narrative  was  Col- 
lignon;  but  as  the  expedition  was  subsequently 
wrecked  in  the  South  Seas,  perhaps  the  collection 
never  reached  France.  "Our  botanists,"  La  Pe- 


10         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

rouse  says,  "did  not  lose  a  moment  in  adding  to 
their  collection  of  plants,  but  the  season  was  very 
unfavorable,  the  heat  of  summer  having  entirely 
dried  them  up,  and  their  seed  being  scattered  on 
the  ground. "  Those  which  they  thought  they  knew 
were  "the  common  wormwood,  sea-wormwood,  the 
male  southernwood,  mugwort,  Mexican  tea,  Cana- 
dian goldenrod,  millfoil,  deadly  nightshade,  spurry 
and  water  mint."  This  offers  a  pretty  puzzle  to 
the  curious  plant  lover  familiar  with  the  native  flora 
of  California,  and  I  prefer  to  leave  to  such  the  prob- 
lem of  finding  out  what  plants  Monsieur  Collignon 
really  found  at  Monterey.2  La  Perouse  had,  before 
reaching  California,  visited  Chile,  and  he  brought 
with  him  from  that  country  some  native  potatoes, 
of  which  he  tells  us  he  made  a  present  to  the  mis- 
sionaries at  Carmel  near  Monterey.  No  doubt  the 
Padres  planted  some  of  them,  and  probably  it  was 
in  this  way  that  potato  culture  originated  in  Califor- 
nia. 
Five  years  later,  in  the  autumn  of  1791,  the  ex- 

2  According  to  Dr.  W.  L.  Jepson,  in  Erythea,  September,  1893,  a 
few  seeds  collected  by  Collignon  at  Monterey  did  reach  Paris  and 
were  sown  in  the  Jardin  des  Plantes.  The  result  was  an  herb  new 
to  Europe,  to  which  the  name  Abronia  umbellata  was  given.  This 
would,  therefore,  appear  to  be  the  first  California  plant  to  have  been 
scientifically  described.  It  is  a  pink-flowered  denizen  of  seashore 
sands  throughout  the  length  of  the  State,  and  is  one  of  several  species 
popularly  called  "  sand  verbena." 


:     —    " 

By  this  shady  brook,  a  stone's  throw  from  the  desert,  a  fine 
orchid    (Epipactis  gigantea}_   is  growing.     A  seedling  Wash- 
ington pine  at  the  back 


IN  CALIFORNIA  11 

pedition  of  the  Spaniard  Alejandro  Malaspina, 
in  search  of  the  supposititious  Northwest  Passage, 
touched  at  the  ports  of  San  Diego  and  Monterey. 
With  it  was  the  Bohemian  Thaddeus  Haenke,  a 
botanist  who  had  been  collecting  extensively  in 
South  America.  Specimens  were  obtained  by  this 
expedition  of  California's  two  most  characteristic 
oaks — the  valley  oak  (Quercus  lobata)  and  the  coast 
live  oak  (Quercus  agrifolia).3  It  would  seem,  too, 
that  Haenke  was  the  first  botanist  to  collect  speci- 
mens of  the  redwood.  The  last  named  tree  was 
made  known  to  science,  however,  from  specimens 
received  from  other  hands,  those  of  Archibald 
Menzies,  a  Scotch  botanist  attached  to  the  explor- 
ing expedition  of  the  Englishman,  Captain  George 
Vancouver.  Both  Haenke  and  Menzies  collected 
their  specimens  from  apparently  the  neighborhood 
in  which  the  Spanish  pioneers  of  1769  had  first  no- 
ticed the  redwood. 

Vancouver  made  two  or  three  stops  at  different 
times  at  California  ports.  The  first  was  in  Novem- 
ber, 1792,  when  he  spent  some  time  in  the  harbor  of 
San  Francisco,  and  he  has  left  a  record  of  what  was 
probably  the  first  Anglo-Saxon  picnic  on  California 
soil.  He  had  secured  permission  from  the  Spanish 

3  In  the  language  of  Spanish-Californians  the  valley  oak,  which  is 
deciduous,  is  called  roble,  and  the  live  oak,  encino  or  encina.  These 
words  are  not  infrequent  in  Californian  geographical  terms  to-day. 


12         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

authorities  to  make  a  horse-back  trip  to  the  Mis- 
sion at  Santa  Clara,  some  forty  miles  south;  and  it 
is  interesting  to  read  of  the  Englishman's  delight 
at  that  time  in  a  region  which  is  still  famous  for 
its  pastoral  and  sylvan  loveliness. 

"About  noon,"  writes  Vancouver,  "we  arrived  at 
a  pleasant  and  enchanting  land  situated  amid  a 
grove  of  trees  at  the  foot  of  a  small  hill  by  which 
flowed  a  very  fine  stream  of  excellent  water.  This 
delightful  pasture  was  nearly  enclosed  on  every  side 
and  offered  sufficient  space  for  resting  of  ourselves 
and  baiting  our  cavalry.  The  bank  which  overhung 
the  murmuring  brook  was  well  adapted  for  taking 
the  refreshment  which  our  provident  friends  had 
supplied ;  and  with  some  grog  we  had  brought  from 
the  ship  (spirits  and  wine  being  scarce  articles  in 
this  country),  we  made  a  most  excellent  meal;  but 
it  required  some  resolution  to  quit  so  lovely  a  scene 
of  beauty  which  was  greatly  heightened  by  the  de- 
lightful serenity  of  the  weather." 

That  was  November  20,  1792.  Proceeding  some- 
what further  the  Vancouver  party  entered  a  coun- 
try which,  the  record  tells  us,  "we  little  expected 
to  find  in  this  region.  For  about  twenty  miles  it 
could  only  be  compared  to  a  park  which  had  orig- 
inally been  closely  planted  with  the  true  old  English 
oak;  the  underwood  that  had  probably  attended  its 


IN  CALIFORNIA  13 

early  growth  had  the  appearance  of  having  been 
cleared  away  and  had  left  the  stately  lords  of  the 
forest  in  complete  possession  of  the  soil,  which  was 
covered  with  luxuriant  herbage  and  beautifully  di- 
versified with  pleasing  eminences  and  valleys ;  which 
with  the  range  of  lofty  mountains  that  bounded  the 
prospect,  required  only  to  be  adorned  with  the  neat 
habitations  of  an  industrious  people  to  produce  a 
scene  not  inferior  to  the  most  studied  effects  of  taste 
in  the  disposal  of  grounds."  Vancouver  was  look- 
ing upon  what  was  a  very  common  sight  throughout 
a  large  part  of  California  in  primitive  times,  and  a 
sort  of  landscape  that  is  by  no  means  yet  cultivated 
out  of  existence — natural  open  groves  of  the  stately 
coast  live-oak  trees  which  have  from  the  first  been 
the  delight  of  all  travelers  in  the  State.  Often  herds 
of  grazing  horses  and  cattle,  and  of  wild  deer,  helped 
the  likeness  to  the  parks  of  the  Old  World  nobility. 

The  Man  of  Grass,  Old  Curious  and  Fremont 

It  was  not  until  1831  that  any  adequate  study  of 
California  plants  upon  their  native  heath  was  made 
by  scientific  collectors.  Up  to  that  time  the  few 
visiting  naturalists  had  confined  their  explora- 
tions to  places  near  the  coast,  and  as  the  time  of 
their  stay  was  usually  short,  and,  with  curious  un- 
animity, almost  always  in  the  autumn,  when  plant 


14         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

life  in  California  is  more  or  less  dormant — they 
really  secured  little  more  than  a  few  snatched  frag- 
ments and  gained  no  adequate  conception  of  the 
floral  Eldorado,  whose  bounds  they  had  entered. 
The  dried  specimens  were  carried  back  to  Europe 
to  be  laid  away  in  the  herbaria  of  scientists,  while 
such  seeds  as  were  collected  were  sown  in  botanic 
gardens.  By  and  by  the  beauty  and  novelty  of 
these  domesticated  Californians  began  to  arouse 
a  desire  for  further  exploration,  both  in  the  inter- 
est of  pure  science  and  for  the  enrichment  of  Euro- 
pean gardens.  So  in  1825,  the  London  Horticul- 
tural Society  despatched  to  the  Pacific  coast,  one 
David  Douglas,  a  Scotch  gardener  with  a  wide 
knowledge  of  plants  and  an  abounding  love  for 
them.  He  sailed  around  the  Horn,  and,  arriving  at 
Fort  Vancouver  on  the  Columbia  River,  made  that 
his  headquarters  for  excursions  into  the  wilderness 
of  what  is  now  the  State  of  Oregon.  To  him  the 
world  owes  the  first  adequate  descriptions  of  the 
magnificent  coniferous  forests  of  the  Coast. 

Douglas  returned  to  England  in  a  year  or  two, 
only  to  start  westward  again  for  the  especial  pur- 
pose of  investigating  the  flora  of  California,  and  in 
the  late  autumn  of  1831  he  landed  at  Monterey. 
California  in  those  days  was  anything  but  a  free 
country  and  outsiders  were  personae  non  gratae. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  15 

Douglas's  request  to  explore  the  interior  of  the 
province  was  so  fraught  with  suspicion  to  the  Mexi- 
can authorities  that  nearly  six  months  were  wasted 
in  this  land  of  manana,  before  permission  was  se- 
cured to  extend  his  excursions  inland.  This  exas- 
perating delay,  however,  enabled  Douglas  to  make 
thorough  examination  of  the  country  within  easy 
access  of  Monterey,  and  carried  him  to  the  spring 
months  when  the  California  countryside  attains  the 
full  glory  of  wild  bloom.  His  collections  far  out- 
numbered all  that  all  his  predecessors  had  taken 
home  and  amounted  to  a  revelation,  including  as 
they  did  numerous  genera  of  plants  never  before 
known  to  science  and  hundreds  of  species.  The 
first  flower  he  took  in  hand,  he  tells  us,  "was  the 
beautiful  wild  gooseberry  (Ribes  speciosum),  a 
flower  not  surpassed  in  beauty  by  the  finest  fuch- 
sia;"4 though  another  had  found  this  before  him. 
The  same  day,  however,  did  bring  a  brand  new  dis- 
covery in  the  shape  of  a  little  herbaceous  annual 
destined  to  become  one  of  the  best  beloved  of  Euro- 
pean garden  flowers,  Nemophila  insignis.  "A 
humble  but  lovely  plant  the  harbinger  of  the  Cali- 
fornia spring,"  Douglas  thought  it.  This  is  the 
charming  wilding  known  to  every  California  flower 
lover  as  Baby-Blue-Eyes. 

*  Which  it  resembles. 


16         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

These  explorations  in  a  wilderness  country,  with 
scarcely  ever  the  sight  of  a  white  man's  face,  were 
full  of  hardships;  but  though  checkered  with  dis- 
comforts both  of  heat  and  cold,  of  drenching  rains 
and  a  sun  "as  hot  as  Arabia,"  with  accidents  to  his 
specimens  which  were  sometimes  entirely  lost  in 
crossing  streams,  and  wounds  to  his  own  body  as 
he  worked  his  way  through  pathless  wastes  and  for- 
ests, there  was  full  compensation  in  the  joy  of  con- 
tinual discovery.  Almost  every  day  brought  its 
new  species  of  herb,  or  shrub  or  tree.  It  is  the 
trees  of  California  and  Oregon  that  insure  an  im- 
mortal fame  to  this  intrepid  Scotchman.  He  was 
the  discoverer,  under  very  exciting  circumstances 
of  the  queen  of  California  pines,  Pinus  Lamber- 
tiana,  the  sugar  pine.  This  tree  bears  within  its 
huge  cones,  large  edible  seeds,  a  few  of  which  Doug- 
las had  caught  sight  of  in  an  Indian's  tobacco 
pouch,  and  he  could  not  rest  until  he  had  hunted 
up  the  trees  from  which  the  seeds  had  come,  for 
he  knew  that  they  represented  an  undescribed 
species.  After  many  hardships  he  succeeded  in 
locating  a  number  of  the  great  trees  in  a  forest,  but 
the  cones,  of  which  he  was  anxious  to  obtain  speci- 
mens for  shipment  to  Europe,  were  suspended  from 
branches  a  hundred  feet  above  the  ground.  To 
reach  these  by  climbing  was  impossible,  as  the  trees 


IN  CALIFORNIA  17 

were  mammoth  of  their  kind,4  and  to  cnt  such 
down,  was  of  course  equally  out  of  the  question. 
The  alternative  was  a  method  practised  at  the  pres- 
ent day  by  some  seekers  after  these  pine-seeds — 
shooting  them  off  with  a  rifle.  In  this  way,  Doug- 
las managed  to  clip  off  three  cones,  when  a  party 
of  armed  Indians  in  war-paint  appeared  upon  the 
scene,  attracted  by  the  reports  of  the  gun. 

"To  save  myself  by  flight  was  impossible/' 
writes  Douglas,  "so  without  hesitation,  I  stepped 
back  about  five  paces,  cocked  my  gun,  drew  one  of 
the  pistols  out  of  my  belt  and  showed  myself  de- 
termined to  fight  for  my  life.  .  .  .  Thus  we  stood, 
looking  at  one  another  without  making  any  move- 
ment or  uttering  a  word,  for  perhaps  ten  minutes, 
when  one  at  last  who  seemed  to  be  the  leader,  gave 
a  sign  that  they  wished  for  some  tobacco.  This  I 
signified  that  they  should  have  if  they  found  a 
quantity  of  cones.  They  went  off  immediately  in 
search  of  them,  and  no  sooner  were  they  all  out  of 

4  The  scene  was  southwestern  Oregon,  some  50  miles  north  of  the 
California  line,  where  the  sugar  pine  has  reached  a  remarkable  de- 
velopment. Douglas  records  one  as  57  feet  in  circumference  at  3 
feet  above  the  ground.  "There  were  giants  in  those  days,"  and  it  is 
doubtful  if  any  sugar  pines  so  large  have  escaped  the  lumberman  and 
the  latter  day  lightning.  John  Muir  gives  the  dimensions  of  full- 
grown  specimens  as  commonly  about  220  feet  high,  and  from  6  to  8 
feet  through  near  the  ground.  Occasionally  individuals  of  twice  that 
thickness  may  be  encountered. 


18         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

sight  than  I  picked  up  my  three  cones  and  some 
twigs  of  the  trees  and  made  the  quickest  possible 
retreat  ...  to  the  camp." 

In  such  picturesque  fashion,  were  the  first  seeds 
of  what  is  perhaps  the  noblest  of  all  pines  procured 
for  European  planting;  but  the  tree  with  which 
Douglas's  name  is  particularly  associated  is  the 
Douglas  spruce  or  fir — Pseudotsuga  Douglasii — 
which  is  common  in  all  the  coniferous  forests  of 
California,  but  attains  its  best  development  in  Ore- 
gon and  Washington.  It  is  the  lumberman's  Ore- 
gon pine  used  extensively  in  building  throughout 
the  Pacific  coast.  A  variety  with  larger  cones, 
peculiar  to  Southern  California,  is  locally  known  as 
big-cone  spruce. 

To  the  Indians,  with  whom  Douglas  in  his  wilder- 
ness wanderings  often  came  in  contact,  the  indus- 
trious gatherer  of  leaves  and  flowers  was  a  sub- 
ject of  considerable  curiosity,  and  Indian  fashion, 
they  gave  him  a  descriptive  nick-name,  which  meant 
"the  man  of  grass."  He  left  California  in  1832, 
to  meet  a  tragic  death  in  the  Sandwich  Islands. 
While  botanizing  there  he  fell  into  a  pit  dug  to  trap 
wild  animals  and  was  gored  to  death  by  a  savage 
bull  which  had  fallen  in  before  him.  When  Doug- 
las's mangled  remains  were  found,  a  dog  that  had 


Photograph  by  Geo.  tf^harton  James 

Monterey  cypress,   Cypress  Point,  near  Monterey,  Calif. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  19 

been  his  companion,  still  guarded  a  bundle  which 
his  master  had  left  upon  the  ground  near  by. 

In  that  classic  narrative  of  the  sea,  "Two  Years 
Before  the  Mast,"  Richard  Henry  Dana  has  more 
or  less  to  say  about  the  California  coast  as  he  went 
up  and  down  in  the  little  brig  Pilgrim,  gather- 
ing hides.  But  his  interest  was  not  in  plant  life, 
and  we  search  in  vain  for  any  light  upon  that  sub- 
ject in  his  books.  We  do,  however,  get  an  interest- 
ing little  picture  of  one  of  the  most  famous  of 
American  botanical  explorers,  Thomas  Nuttall. 
Nuttall  was  a  Yorkshireman,  who  about  the  year 
1810,  emigrated  to  the  Uniied  States.  He  traveled 
very  extensively  in  this  country,  and  in  1836  ar- 
rived in  California,  homeward  bound  from  Oregon. 
Securing  a  passage  on  the  Dana  hide-drogher,  he 
made  stops  at  Monterey,  Santa  Barbara,  San  Pedro 
and  San  Diego.  It  was  at  the  last  port  that  Dana 
came  in  contact  with  him,  when  both  were  preparing 
to  sail  for  Boston  on  another  ship.  Nuttall,  it 
seems,  had  been  a  professor  at  Harvard  when  Dana 
was  a  student  there,  and  the  latter 's  account  of 
their  re-meeting  in  California  is  rather  amusing. 
"I  had  left  him,"  Dana  writes,  "quietly  sitting  in 
the  chair  of  botany  and  ornithology  in  Harvard 
University,  and  the  next  I  saw  of  him  he  was  stroll- 


20         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

ing  about  San  Diego  Bay  in  a  sailor's  pea-jacket, 
with  a  wide  straw  hat  and  bare  feet  with  his 
trousers  rolled  up  to  his  knees,  picking  up  stones 
and  shells."  The  sailors  considered  him  something 
of  a  joke,  calling  him  "Old  Curious,"  and  believed 
him  rather  out  of  his  mind;  but  he  knew  his  busi- 
ness, and  his  few  weeks'  stay  in  California  led  to 
the  discovery  of  a  large  number  of  plants  of  which 
the  world  had  been  in  ignorance  before  that.  His 
name  is  enshrined  in  Nuttallia  cerasiformis,  a 
charming  plumlike  shrub  of  the  Coast  Eange,  and 
in  California's  beautiful  tree-dogwood,  Cornus 
Nuttallii,  besides  many  another  species  of  interest 
more  to  botanists  than  the  laity. 

Under  the  Spanish  and  Mexican  regimes,  Cali- 
fornia was  always  wild,  save  in  so  far  as  there  was 
cultivation  close  to  the  Franciscan  missionary 
establishments.  With  the  coming  of  the  country 
under  American  domination,  the  usual  change  set 
in  that  follows  the  plow  the  world  over,  though  it 
was  not  until  the  transcontinental  railways  linked 
the  Pacific  with  the  Atlantic  that  the  curtain  ac- 
tually rang  down  on  California  pastoral,  and  the 
State's  modern  epoch  was  born.  The  preliminary 
surveys  for  the  Pacific  railways  were  numerous  and 
began  in  the  1850 's.  Each  surveying  party  was 
accompanied  by  a  naturalist  or  two,  whose  names  as 


IN  CALIFORNIA  gl 

well  as  their  leaders'  live  to-day  in  the  botanical 
appellations  of  many  a  familiar  California  plant 
that  they  discovered.  The  discussion  of  them,  how- 
ever, would  be  in  the  main  more  appropriate  to  a 
scientific  monograph  than  the  present  work;  but  I 
cannot  refrain  from  reference  to  one  picturesque 
figure  who,  in  the  last  days  of  Mexican  supremacy, 
dropped  down  from  the  Sierras  into  California  and 
was  interested  alike  in  her  politics  and  her  flora — 
John  C.  Fremont. 

In  the  spring  of  1844,  Fremont  in  command  of  a 
motley  exploring  party  made  up  of  trappers,  sol* 
diers  and  Indians,  arrived  at  Sutter's  Fort  on  the 
Sacramento  River,  and  after  a  short  stay  for  rest 
and  repairs,  proceeded  southward  along  the  great 
central  valley  of  California,  and  crossing  the 
Tehachapi  Mountains  at  the  valley's  southern  end, 
passed  from  the  territory  eastward  across  the  Mo- 
jave  Desert.  Fremont  was  no  dry-as-dust  ob- 
server, and  his  journal  is  replete  with  vivacious 
descriptions  of  a  country  that  seemed  an  Eden  to 
those  explorers,  lately  from  the  alkaline  stretches  of 
a  Nevada  desert  and  from  the  snowdrifts  of  an  un- 
broken Sierra  pass.  In  the  canon  of  the  American 
River,  before  reaching  Sutter's,  he  notes  the  pres- 
ence of  "a  new  and  singular  shrub.  .  .  .  The  body 
and  branches  had  a  naked  appearance  as  if  stripped 


22         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

of  the  bark,  which  is  very  smooth  and  thin  and  of  a 
chocolate  color,  contrasting  well  with  the  pale  green 
of  the  leaves."  There  is  no  doubt  about  that  be- 
ing the  shrub  which  more  than  any  other,  is  ca- 
pable of  arresting  the  attention  of  the  traveler  even 
to-day  in  the  California  mountains — the  famous 
manzanita.  In  the  open  valleys  the  neat  groves  of 
live  oak,  which  had  stirred  earlier  travelers  to  ad- 
miration and  thoughts  of  home,  were  to  Fremont, 
too,  like  orchards  in  an  old  cultivated  country.  An 
interesting  entry  in  this  journal,  is  of  meeting  with 
the  pretty  rosettes  of  the  filaree  (Erodium  cicu- 
tarium),  which  Indian  women  were  gathering  into 
their  conical  burden  baskets  to  be  consumed  as 
food.  That  was  in  an  unfrequented  part  of  north- 
ern California  and  seventy  years  ago,  and  it  makes 
one  wonder  if  this  pretty  pasture  plant  may  not  be 
really  indigenous  to  the  State  instead  of  introduced 
from  Europe,  as  the  botanical  brethren  would  have 
it. 

In  those  heavenly  days  of  early  spring  the  San 
Joaquin  valley  was  gay  with  wild  flowers,  and  some 
of  the  creek  banks  absolutely  golden  with  California 
poppies.  In  some  of  the  arroyos,  giant  lupines 
grew — one  may  still  find  them — twelve  feet  high, 
and  clustered  so  that  three  or  four  plants  together 
formed  a  huge  bouquet  ninety  feet  around,  the 


IN  CALIFORNIA  23 

whole  summit  covered  with  spikes  of  glorious  fra- 
grant bloom.  Threading  such  flowery  thickets,  the 
cavalcade  would  be  quite  hidden  in  beauty  and 
fragrance,  from  which  it  would  emerge  into  sun- 
lit plains  of  verdure  set  with  live-oaks,  the  ends  of 
whose  branches  in  many  cases  rested  on  the  ground, 
so  that  the  whole  crown  of  the  tree  formed  some- 
what more  than  one-half  a  sphere.  Under  these 
leafy  tents,  as  well  as  in  the  sunny  interspaces,  wild 
flowers  blossomed. 

By  mid-April  Fremont  reached  the  southern  end 
of  this  great  valley  which  was  destined  to  become 
soon  the  granary  of  California,  and  climbing  the 
rough  sides  of  the  Sierra  came  in  sight  of  the 
desert.  Here  he  beheld,  at  one  glance,  the  two  di- 
verse pictures  which  California  presents  to-day, 
and  which  contribute  greatly  to  the  fascination  of 
travel  within  its  borders.  Behind  lay  the  verdant 
valley  of  the  San  Joaquin,  fed  by  living  streams 
whose  sources  were  in  glaciers  and  springs  of  the 
Sierra  Nevada ;  and  ahead  stretched  the  sandy,  vol- 
canic wastes  of  the  Mojave  Desert — the  parched 
llanos  where  as  his  Indian  guides  told  him,  "no 
water  is,  no  grass,  nothing.  Every  animal  that 
goes  there  dies."  It  was  Fremont's  business,  how- 
ever, to  make  a  way  even  if  there  was  none,  and 
descending  into  the  desert,  he  crossed  to  the  north- 


24        WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

ern  slope  of  the  great  San  Gabriel  range,  which 
skirting,  the  party  managed  with  less  hardship  than 
might  be  expected,  to  reach  the  "Spanish  trail" 
that  led  from  Los  Angeles  to  Sante  Fe.  Here,  their 
faces  toward  home,  we  may  leave  them — a  pictur- 
esque party,  the  humor  of  whose  appearance  was  not 
lost  on  Fremont,  himself.  It  stretched  over  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  from  van  to  rear  guard,  and  included 
Americans,  French,  Germans,  and  Indians,  every- 
body bearing  firearms  and  speaking  four  or  five  lan- 
guages at  once.  A  hundred  half-wild  horses  and 
mules,  besides  pack  animals,  the  baggage  and  the 
horned  cattle,  were  clustered  in  the  center  of  the 
caravan,  with  scouts  ahead  and  on  the  flanks,  so 
that  "we  looked,"  as  their  gallant  leader  puts  it  in 
his  quaint  Southern  way,  "more  like  we  belonged  to 
Asia  than  to  the  United  States  of  America. ' ' 

There  is  a  small  tree,  somewhat  resembling  a 
fig  tree,  peculiar  to  the  foothill  region  of  the  Sierra 
Nevada,  that  blooms  in  May  and  June  with  so 
prodigal  an  expenditure  of  yellow  mallow-like 
flowers,  that  the  dry  rocky  ridges  which  it  in- 
habits— both  those  overlooking  the  great  valley  and 
those  that  give  upon  the  desert — seem  set  with 
tents  of  gold.  The  mountain  folk  call  it  slippery 
elm  because  of  its  mucilaginous  bark.  It  is,  how- 
ever, too  rare  a  tree  to  be  made  to  shine  by  any  re- 


IN  CALIFORNIA  25 

fleeted  light,  being  the  only  species  of  a  genus  in- 
digenous nowhere  in  the  world  outside  of  Cali- 
fornia ;  and  it  is  juster,  I  think,  to  call  it  by  the  name 
which  John  Torrey,  its  first  botanical  describer, 
gave  it — Fremontia  Calif ornica — in  honor  of  "The 
Pathfinder,"  who  discovered  it  and  whose  inde- 
fatigable labors  brought  to  light  so  much  of  Cali- 
fornia's floral  riches. 


II 

TREES  OF  THE  CALIFORNIA  WAYSIDE  AND 
WHERE  THEY  CAME  FROM 

AMERICANS,  as  a  class,  have  been  slow  to  real- 
ize the  value  of  their  native  sylva  for  orna- 
ment and  shade  on  cultivated  grounds,  and  while 
for  three-quarters  of  a  century  the  parks  and  estates 
of  the  Old  World  have  drawn  upon  the  magnificent 
forests  of  the  Pacific  Coast  for  types  of  arboreal 
beauty,  Calif ornians,  when  they  plant  a  tree,  gener- 
ally plant  an  exotic.  As  the  eastern  visitor  in  Cali- 
fornia motors  over  the  thousand  and  one  fine  roads 
that  now  gridiron  the  State,  or  saunters  along  the 
shady  avenues  of  any  one  of  a  score  of  her  little 
sylvan  cities,  he  is  quickly  struck  with  the  strange- 
ness of  the  trees,  among  which  is  hardly  one  to  re- 
mind him  of  his  eastern  home.  In  fact,  California 
has  ransacked  the  ends  of  the  earth  for  her  way- 
side trees.  China  and  Japan,  Australia  and  India, 
Chile,  Peru  and  Brazil,  the  Mediterranean  regions 
of  Europe,  Asia  and  Africa  and  the  islands  of  the 
Pacific — all  these  and  more  have  been  drawn  upon. 

26 


IN  CALIFORNIA  £7 

The  hospitality  of  her  soil  and  climate  seems  bound- 
less, and  the  tree  lover  finds  himself  in  California 
in  a  paradise  where  he  can  study  in  the  open,  as  in 
a  great  botanical  garden,  individuals  of  practically 
every  important  arboreal  family  of  the  whole  world 
from  the  tropics  to  the  Arctic  circle:  a  paradise 
where  palm  and  pine  grow  side  by  side. 

Palms  and  Peppers 

The  first  to  attract  the  attention  of  most  visitors 
are  perhaps  the  palms — those  princes  of  plant  life, 
as  Linnaeus  considered  them.  In  some  eyes  these 
tropical  aristocrats  seem  somewhat  out  of  keeping 
with  the  miscellaneous  company  in  which  they  find 
themselves  in  California,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
Nature  has  set  the  seal  of  her  approval  upon  the 
association  since  one  species  extensively  planted 
both  as  a  street  tree  and  for  ornament  in  private 
grounds,  is  a  native  of  the  State.  This  is  the 
Washingtonia  filifera  of  botanists,  the  generic  name 
being  in  honor  of  the  First  President.  It  grows 
indigenously  in  canons  and  alkaline  oases  of  the 
desert  portions  of  San  Diego  and  Eiverside  coun- 
ties. The  great  spreading  leaves  look  like  immense 
palm-leaf  fans,  and  the  tree  is  popularly  known  as 
the  desert  palm,  or  California  fan  palm.  The  dis- 
covery of  this  noble  tree  is  credited  to  the  exploring 


28         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

party  of  Major  Emory  while  traversing  in  1846,  the 
Colorado  Desert  of  California  en  route  for  San 
Diego.  In  his  company  were  some  Florida  cam- 
paigners, who  hailed  the  trees  as  old  friends,  believ- 
ing them  to  be  cabbage  palms,  or  palmettos — a  very 
different  tree  in  fact,  though  outwardly  resemblant. 
Many  a  tourist  on  his  first  visit  to  California  makes 
the  same  not  unnatural  mistake.  The  Washing- 
tonia  is  extensively  grown  in  Europe  from  seeds 
originally  procured  in  California. 

Another  of  the  tribe  very  commonly  planted  and 
somewhat  resembling  the  WasHngtonia,  is  the  so- 
called  windmill  palm  (Chamaerops  excelsa),  which 
has  slipped  in  from  China,  in  spite  of  California's 
anti-Chinese  sentiments.  The  shape  of  the  trunk 
constitutes  a  characteristic  by  which  the  non- 
botanical  may  distinguish  it  from  the  Washing- 
tonia.  The  latter  narrows  upward  from  a  robust 
butt,  while  the  trunk  of  the  windmill  palm  is  dis- 
posed to  be  top  heavy,  thickening  upward  from  the 
somewhat  attenuated  base.  It  is,  moreover,  rather 
heavily  clothed  with  a  tangle  of  dark  fiber. 

The  sharp-eyed,  even  if  not  versed  in  botany,  soon 
notice  that  the  palms  naturally  separate  into  two 
general  divisions — those  whose  leaves,  as  in  the  case 
of  the  two  species  just  mentioned,  are  in  the  form 
of  fans,  and  those  whose  foliage  is  feather-shaped. 


A  pepper  tree   walk 


IN  CALIFORNIA  29 

To  the  latter  division  belongs  the  date  palm  of 
tropical  Asia  and  Africa,  now  being  extensively 
cultivated  in  certain  fertile  valleys  of  the  California 
desert  for  its  fruit.  It  was  among  the  first  for- 
eigners to  be  planted  on  California  soil,  and  fine  old 
specimens  set  out  originally  by  the  Franciscan  mis- 
sionaries still  stand  near  a  few  of  the  ancient  Mis- 
sions as  well  as  on  some  of  the  older  ranches  in  the 
central  valleys.  As  a  wayside  tree,  however,  the 
true  date  palm,  useful  as  it  might  well  be  for  this 
purpose,  has  never  been  used  in  California ;  though 
a  kindred  species  more  robust  in  habit  and  without 
edible  fruit,  the  Canary  Island  date  palm  (Phoenix 
Canariensis)  is  one  of  the  most  familiar  exotics  in 
the  State.  A  veritable  gushing  fountain  of  feathery 
leaves,  is  one  of  these  trees  when  young — the  foliage 
arching  out  and  downward  until  the  tips  touch  the 
ground — a  habit  which  causes  each  plant  to  occupy 
so  much  ground  before  the  growing  trunk  has  lifted 
the  crown  into  the  air,  that  this  variety  is  more 
suited  to  lawns  or  private  avenues,  than  to  public 
thoroughfares,  unless  the  latter  are  of  exceptional 
width.  More  common  by  the  wayside  are  the  airy 
plumes  of  Cocos  plumosa,  a  Brazilian  cousin  of  the 
cocoanut  palm,  of  rare  grace  and  loveliness.  In  the 
same  company  are  often  seen  the  slender  dracaenas 
or  cordylines  of  New  Zealand,  persistently  regarded 


30         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

as  palms  by  the  "man  in  the  street,"  but  one  needs 
only  to  take  a  good  look  at  the  long  narrow  sword- 
like  leaves  to  know  they  are  not  palms. 

The  fruiting  of  the  palms  that  one  usually  sees  in 
California  is  a  noteworthy  first  sight  to  the  visitor. 
The  individual  blossoms  are  small,  but  are  borne  in 
tight  clusters,  each  like  a  huge  hand  enveloped  in  a 
yellowish  mitten,  thrust  out  from  the  base  of  the 
leaf  stalks.  By  and  by,  the  compact  mass  emerges 
from  its  envelope  and  divides  into  a  pendulous  pan- 
icle of  bloom,  each  blossom  succeeded  in  due  time 
by  a  berry-like  fruit.  This  varies  in  color  with  the 
kind  of  palm — purple,  red,  orange,  or  yellow — and 
consists  usually  of  a  fleshy  pulp,  spread  thin  over  a 
comparatively  large  amount  of  stone.  In  the  case 
of  the  Canary  Island  palm,  the  fruit  very  much  re- 
sembles the  date  and  may  be  nibbled  at,  but  for  seri- 
ous consumption  it  is  not  at  all  in  the  class  of  its 
famous  cousin,  the  true  date. 

Quite  as  conspicuous  as  the  palms  in  Southern 
California,  is  the  so-called  pepper  tree  (Schinus 
molle],  whose  graceful,  evergreen  leafage  droops  in 
a  way  to  remind  one  of  the  weeping  willow  of  the 
East.  Not  the  least  of  its  charms  both  to  visitors 
and  residents,  are  the  bunches  of  pretty  red  berries 
which  glow  amidst  the  foliage  through  a  large  part 
of  the  year,  though  most  noticeable  in  the  winter. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  31 

The  tree  is  dioecious — that  is,  it  bears  staminate  and 
pistillate  blossoms  on  different  trees ;  which  accounts 
for  a  fact  puzzling  to  the  non-botanical,  namely,  that 
not  all  the  trees  are  berry  bearing.  In  country  and 
in  town  alike,  the  pepper  lines  miles  of  waysides  and 
in  many  cases  the  crowns  meet  overhead,  so  as  to 
form  long  tunnels  of  greenery,  somewhat  in  the  way 
that  old  elms  do  in  New  England  streets.  People 
who  are  not  satisfied  short  of  perfection,  are  dis- 
posed to  grumble  at  the  pepper  tree  because  of  a 
disposition  to  drop  its  leaflets  too  freely  in  wet 
weather,  so  contributing  rather  markedly  to  the 
dirtiness  and  slipperiness  of  sidewalks.  A  more 
serious  charge  is  hospitality  to  certain  scale  insects, 
which  are  the  special  bane  of  the  citrus  fruit  in- 
dustry in  California.  The  control  of  scale,  how- 
ever, is  now  pretty  well  understood  in  the  State,  and 
systematic  spraying,  which  in  many  California  dis- 
tricts is  seen  to  by  the  local  governmental  authori- 
ties, removes  to  a  great  extent  this  objection  to  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  and  popular  of  introduced 
shade  trees. 

Widespread  as  the  cultivation  of  the  pepper  tree 
is  in  California,  no  one  seems  to  know  when  and 
how  it  became  established  there.  The  memory  of 
the  oldest  inhabitant  is  not  long  enough  to  recall  its 
introduction,  for  the  tree  was  there  before  he  came, 


32         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

and  no  documentary  record  of  its  advent  has  as  yet 
been  unearthed.  It  is  found  wild  in  the  sub-tropical 
regions  of  Peru  and  adjacent  countries  of  South 
America,  and  Mr.  Chas.  F.  Lummis,  well  known 
authority  on  all  matters  pertaining  to  the  South- 
west, tells  me  that  Don  Antonio  de  Mendoza,  the 
first  Spanish  viceroy  of  Peru,  sent  the  tree  up  to 
Mexico  about  the  year  1540.  Thence  it  was  intro- 
duced into  Europe  under  the  name  of  Peruvian  mas- 
tic or  mulli  tree,  and  was  growing  in  many  Euro- 
pean gardens  before  the  sixteenth  century  was  out. 
Ever  since  its  introduction  into  Mexico  it  has  been 
popular  as  a  shade  tree  there,  and  has  spread  to 
such  an  extent  as  to  make  even  our  veteran  botanist, 
Dr.  Asa  Gray,  question  if  it  was  not  indigenous  in 
that  country.  It  seems  reasonable  to  believe  that 
an  ornamental  tree  so  well  distributed  throughout 
Spanish-speaking  countries,  valued  for  its  shade 
and  known  to  be  of  quick  growth,  should  have  been 
introduced  by  the  Franciscan  Missionaries  into 
California  to  provide  shade  around  such  of  their 
newly  founded  establishments  as  needed  it.  The 
direct  evidence  of  this  is  wanting,  but  Spanish-Cali- 
fornians  will  assure  you  that  such  was  the  fact. 
There  is  at  the  Mission  San  Luis  Bey,  near  Ocean- 
side  in  San  Diego  county,  a  very  large  specimen, 
which  local  tradition  credits  with  being  the  first  of 


IN  CALIFORNIA  33 

its  kind  grown  within  the  borders  of  the  State. 
Mrs.  Mary  M.  Bowman  of  Los  Angeles  has  informed 
me  that  when  Don  Juan  Warner,  famous  in  the  early 
history  of  California,  stopped  at  that  Mission  in 
1831,  the  Father  Superior  showed  him  a  bed  of  queer 
plants  growing  in  the  Mission  garden.  The  Father 
did  not  know  what  the  plants  were,  but  said  that  a 
sailor  on  a  vessel  from  the  southward  had  once 
given  him  a  package  of  the  seeds,  unnamed.  The 
packet  was  overlooked  for  some  years,  but  finally 
the  Father  had  the  seeds  sown  out  of  curiosity  to 
learn  their  nature.  They  proved  to  be  pepper 
trees,  or  as  the  Spanish-Americans  called  them  at 
that  time  and  still  do,  arboles  de  Peru,  trees  of 
Peru.  As  they  grew  taller  the  Padre  had  them  set 
out  in  a  row  in  front  of  the  Mission — all  but  one, 
which  he  left  in  the  original  garden  bed.  Visitors 
and  Indian  vaqueros,  coming  and  going,  hitched 
their  horses  to  the  trunks;  they  were  abused  and 
broken,  and  one  by  one  all  died,  except  the  original 
in  the  garden,  which  still  stands,  though  the  freez- 
ing weather  which  visited  California  in  January, 
1913,  killed  the  branches  back  to  the  main  trunk. 
The  damage,  however,  was  only  temporary,  and  the 
veteran  tree  has  since  started  in  vigorously  to  re- 
gain its  former  great  spread.  From  this  tree  and 
its  companions,  the  tradition  goes,  came  the  seeds 


34         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

from  which  others  grew  throughout  California — but 
this  is  only  a  tradition. 

Pepper  is  a  misnomer  for  Schinus  Molle,  as  its  re- 
lationship is  not  at  all  with  the  pepper  of  commerce, 
but  with  the  sumacs,  of  which  the  members  best 
known  to  Easterners  are  the  little  shrubs  whose 
brilliant  orange  and  crimson  leaves  add  so  mate- 
rially to  the  glory  of  autumn  landscapes  on  the  At- 
lantic seaboard.  The  Schinus  berries  are,  indeed, 
peppery  to  the  taste  and  turpentiny  withal,  and  the 
South  American  Indians  with  the  aboriginal  genius 
for  turning  the  most  unpromising  material  to  ac- 
count, are  said  to  have  concocted  a  drink  by  infusing 
the  berries  in  water  and  pressing  out  the  juice,  the 
result  being  a  wine-colored  beverage  the  qualities 
of  which  any  one  curious  in  such  matters  can  easily 
test.  The  wood  is  despised  by  most  Californians 
of  to-day,  but  the  South  Americans  are  said  to  have 
discovered  the  heart  wood  to  be  solid  enough  for 
use  as  pillars,  axle-trees  and  corner  posts  of  dwell- 
ings. Pepper  tree  leaves  abound  in  a  pungent 
resin  and  it  is  a  stock  statement  in  books  that  they 
have  an  entertaining  way  of  gyrating  when  thrown 
in  water ;  but  I  must  confess  that  though  I  have  ex- 
perimented with  them  a  number  of  times,  they  stay 
as  motionless  as  alligators  for  me. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  35 

The  Eucalypts 

Of  even  greater  importance  than  the  pepper  tree 
for  wayside  adornment,  and  of  far  greater  influence 
upon  the  aspect  of  the  countryside,  is  the  eucalyptus 
or  Australian  gum  tree.  Its  tall  spires  of  verdancy, 
swaying  gently  in  the  wind  like  giant  grasses,  are 
conspicuous  summer  and  winter  from  San  Francisco 
to  the  southern  limits  of  the  State,  and  harmonize 
so  well  with  the  landscape  that  it  is  hard  to  realize 
that  they  are  of  man's  planting,  not  Nature's. 
They  are  indigenous  to  Australia,  where  they  form 
vast  natural  forests.  There  are  about  a  hundred 
and  fifty  species — not  a  thousand,  as  some  enthusi- 
astic Californians  will  be  apt  to  tell  you — and  of 
these  perhaps  sixty  may  be  met  with  in  cultivation 
to  greater  or  less  extent  within  the  limits  of  our 
Southwest.  One  species  (Eucalyptus  amygdalina] 
sometimes  attains  in  its  Australian  home  the  dizzy 
height  of  over  four  hundred  feet,  thus  far  overtop- 
ping any  living  specimens  of  our  own  mammoth 
Sequoia,  but  it  lacks  the  girth  and  all-round  huge- 
ness that  insure  to  the  latter  the  title  of  being  the 
Big  tree. 

"They  tell  me,"  said  a  lumberman,  whose  interest 
in  trees  was  mainly  a  matter  of  board  measure, 


36         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

"that  some  of  those  Australians  turn  out  logs  over 
two  hundred  feet  long  and  thirty  in  diameter  at  the 
butt.  Do  you  get  that?  That's  a  clear  stick  of 
hardwood  timber  pretty  near  half  as  high  as  the 
Washington  Monument,  standing  on  the  same 
amount  of  ground  as  a  snug  little  bungalow.  Now 
what  do  you  know  about  that?  And  we  can  grow 
them  in  California.  Got  'em  started  already." 

Of  all  trees  in  the  West,  the  eucalypts  are  the  most 
rapid  of  growth,  and  in  a  general  way  accomplish 
as  much  in  twenty  years  as  an  oak  in  a  century. 
Of  course  the  rate  of  growth  depends  largely  upon 
local  conditions — soil,  moisture  and  climate — but  in 
general  terms,  the  species  most  commonly  planted 
in  California  are  good  for  their  twelve  or  fifteen 
feet  the  first  year  after  setting  out — at  which  time 
they  are  usually  four  or  five  months  old  and  the  size 
of  a  lead  pencil — and  after  that  they  can  be  counted 
on  to  add  from  five  to  eight  feet  annually  to  their 
score.  Five-year-old  blue  gums  forty  to  fifty  feet 
high  are  by  no  means  uncommon,  and  any  old  resi- 
dent can  show  you  trees  five  feet  in  diameter  at  the 
base  whose  crowns  rise  nearly  or  quite  a  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  into  the  air,  and  are  not  yet  thirty 
years  old.  There  is  always  a  balsamic  fragrance 
noticeable  about  a  "gum  grove,"  which  has  given 
force  to  the  popular  belief  that  the  presence  of  these 


IN  CALIFORNIA  37 

trees  is  enmity  to  malaria.  The  disposition  of  sci- 
ence, however,  as  so  often  happens  in  matters  that 
are  of  popular  acceptance,  is  to  throw  cold  water 
on  this  cheerful  view;  yet  the  fact  remains,  that 
many  localities  previously  malarial  both  in  the  New 
World  and  the  Old,  are  no  longer  so  since  eucalypts 
have  been  planted  and  have  sucked  up  the  spots  of 
moist  stagnation. 

The  first  importation  of  eucalyptus  seeds  into 
California  was  of  too  little  moment  at  the  time  to 
be  thought  worthy  of  record,  but  Mr.  A.  J.  Mc- 
Clatchie,  the  author  of  an  exhaustive  monograph  on 
the  eucalypts  in  America,  published  a  few  years  ago 
by  the  United  States  Department  of  Agriculture,  is 
disposed  to  credit  a  Mr.  Walker  of  San  Francisco 
with  that  unwitting  act  of  philanthropy  in  1856, 
shortly  after  their  importation  into  Europe  and 
Africa.  It  is  not  likely,  therefore,  that  there  is  a 
single  eucalyptus  in  California  over  fifty  years  old. 
Planted  here  at  first  more  as  a  curiosity  than  any- 
thing else — for  their  magical  rapidity  of  growth 
made  them  seem  a  sort  of  arboreal  Jack's  bean- 
stalk— the  trees  attracted  comparatively  little  no- 
tice until  about  1875.  Then  Ellwood  Cooper  of 
Santa  Barbara,  who  had  in  the  meantime  wintered 
and  summered  a  number  of  different  species  for 
several  years,  and  had  some  fifty  thousand  speci- 


38         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

mens  growing  on  his  ranch,  began  to  advise  their 
extensive  cultivation  as  an  addition  to  the  State's 
resources.  Since  then  they  have  been  planted  so 
extensively  in  Central  and  Southern  California,  in 
valley  and  on  mountain  side,  by  irrigation  ditches 
and  on  stretches  of  desert  aridity,  that  the  whole 
face  of  the  landscape  in  many  sections  has  been 
changed.  Set  as  windbreaks,  the  eucalypts  have 
made  many  a  shifty  plain  agriculturally  possible 
that  was  worthless  before;  and  as  a  fuel  producer 
in  a  region  of  scant  forest  and  no  coal,  they  have 
been  a  gift  as  of  the  very  gods.  The  lusty  young 
trees  are  ready  for  the  ax  at  five  or  six  years  old 
and  the  shorn  stumps  quickly  send  up  vigorous 
shoots  eager  for  a  fresh  whirl  at  life.  These  are 
thinned  out  and  in  another  half  dozen  years,  three 
or  four  will  be  ripe  for  cutting  again.  The  green 
leaves  and  branches  are  filled  with  an  inflammable 
oil,  and  one  of  the  sights  for  tenderfeet,  is  the  feed- 
ing of  stoves  and  furnaces  with  such  fresh  trim- 
mings. All  the  species  of  eucalyptus  are  hardwood 
trees,  and  while  the  hardness  is  of  various  degrees 
in  the  different  species,  all  are  in  the  same  general 
class  as  hickory,  walnut,  oak  and  even  mahogany, 
and  the  uses  of  the  wood  are  accordingly  manifold. 
Eucalyptus  blossoms  are  among  the  most  curious 
of  flowers.  Different  species  bloom  at  different 


IN  CALIFORNIA  39 

seasons,  but  in  California  one  is  sure  to  see  some 
display  as  early  in  the  year  as  January.  While 
sometimes  exceedingly  showy  in  tones  of  red,  the 
flowers  are  usually  white  or  cream  color  and  look, 
far  above  us  in  airy  billows  of  foliage,  like  flecks  of 
foam  or  a  sprinkling  of  snow.  After  a  storm  we 
may  pick  from  the  ground  a  flower-laden  twig  that 
has  been  blown  down  and  examine  the  wonderful 
creations.  The  bud  is  a  tight-closed  case  varying 
in  size  from  a  pea's  bigness  to  a  walnut's.1  At  its 
appointed  hour  it  neatly  splits  off  the  lid  and  from 
the  interior  as  a  jack  from  his  box,  appears  the 
flower,  which  is  nothing  but  a  bristling  mass  of 
countless  glistening  stamens,  subtly  fragrant  and 
delicate  as  the  weave  of  fairy  hands.  The  flowers 
are  produced  sociably  in  umbels,  or  panicled  clusters, 
and  in  some  species  continue  to  open  over  a  period 
of  several  months  and  hum  with  wild  bees  which 
haunt  them  for  their  nectar.  The  woody  seed  ves- 
sels are  as  interesting  in  their  way  as  the  blossoms, 
and  are  of  various  shapes  and  sizes  according  to 
species — smooth  or  wrinkled  or  ribbed,  and  fash- 
ioned in  form  of  tops,  cups,  pills,  eggs,  bells,  urns 
or  what  not.  To  collect  the  different  sorts  in  one's 
rambles,  is  almost  as  fascinating  as  collecting  old 

i  The  word  eucalyptus  means  "  well-concealed,"  in  reference  to  this 
complete  hiding  of  the  floral  organs  in  the  box-like  calyx. 


40         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

china,  and  by  people  of  utilitarian  bent,  they  may 
be  turned  to  practical  account  and  strung  into  neck- 
laces, portiere  chains  and  so  on.  Some  kinds  are  an 
inch  or  an  inch  and  a  half  in  diameter,  and  lovers 
of  the  Lady  Nicotine  have  been  known  to  favor 
such  for  pipe  bowls. 

The  best  all-round  eucalypt  for  California,  and 
the  one  most  frequently  met  with,  is  the  blue  gum 
(E.  globulus),  whose  wood,  hard  as  hickory,  is  use- 
ful not  only  for  fuel,  but  for  making  a  variety  of 
things  from  hoe  handles  to  wharf  piling.  It  is  a 
kingly  tree  in  its  proportions,  attaining1  in  its  native 
Australia  a  height  of  300  feet ;  and  in  its  nature  it  is 
no  less  large — tolerant  to  an  unusual  extent  of  ad- 
verse conditions.  The  ability  to  withstand  a  con- 
siderable degree  of  frost  as  well  as  heat,  and  to 
thrive  alike  in  moist  soil  and  arid,  is  largely  re- 
sponsible for  its  extensive  culture.  Possibly  150 
feet  is  the  high  mark  of  the  blue  gum's  growth  so 
far  in  California.  Country  roads  lined  on  both 
sides  for  thousands  of  feet  with  such  colossi,  drip- 
ping dappled  shadows  and  happy  bird  notes,  and 
sprinkling  upon  the  traveler  benedictions  of 
fragrance,  are  among  the  unforgettable  pleasures 
of  a  California  outing.  Blue  gum  saplings,  as  well 
as  the  young  sprouts  of  old  trees,  are  remarkable 
for  their  powdery-surfaced,  bluish  leaves  oval  in 


IN  CALIFORNIA  41 

shape  borne  on  four-angled  stems.  With  age,  the 
foliage  takes  on  an  entirely  new  aspect.  The 
fashion  of  youth  is  discarded  for  slender  leathery 
leaves  of  a  sober  green,  sickle-shaped  and  hanging 
stringily  with  one  edge  always  towards  the  outer 
light,  from  branches  whose  former  uncompromising 
squareness  the  contact  with  life  has  reduced  to  easy- 
going roundness.  It  is  from  the  fresh  leaves  and 
twigs,  principally  of  the  blue  gum,  that  the  famous 
oil  of  eucalyptus  is  extracted ;  and  blue  gum  leaves 
made  into  teas  or  poultices,  are  among  California 
household  remedies  for  troubles  of  the  respiratory 
organs. 

Shade  Trees  That  Are  Leafless  and  Others 

Also  to  Australia,  California  owes  her  acacia 
trees,  of  which  a  score  of  evergreen  species  adorn 
her  streets,  parks  and  roadways.  They  are  famous 
for  their  showy  flowers,  which  though  individually 
tiny  are  borne  in  myriads  of  spherical  clusters,  and 
in  some  varieties,  as  Acacia  Baileyana  and  A.  mol- 
lissima,  the  blooming  is  so  exuberant  that  the  foli- 
age is  all  but  hidden  under  a  rippling  sheet  of  gold 
during  the  time  of  inflorescence.  This  with  most 
species  is  in  late  winter  and  spring,  and  a  pretty 
sight  on  California  highways  at  that  season  is  af- 
forded by  carriages  and  automobiles  decorated  with 


42         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

long,  plumy  sprays  of  acacia  bloom,  like  so  much 
sublimated  sunshine.  At  least  one  species,  the  wil- 
lowy looking  Acacia  floribunda,  flowers  through- 
out the  year — though  temperately.  After  I  had  be- 
come somewhat  used  to  the  sight  of  acacias,  and 
thought  I  had  begun  to  know  them  for  acacias  off- 
hand, I  realized  one  day,  that  like  the  palms,  they 
fall  into  two  classes  as  to  leaves — one  sort  with  pin- 
nate, or  feather-like  foliage,  and  the  other,  with 
leaves  that  are  entire.  To  the  latter  division  be- 
longs the  blackwood  acacia  (A.  melanoxylon) ,  ex- 
tensively planted  along  streets  in  some  sections  of 
the  State  because  of  the  dense  shade  cast  by  its 
rather  somber  crown.  I  mentioned  the  fact  of  my 
discovery  in  leaves  to  my  neighbor  the  Professor, 
as  we  stood  chatting  one  summer  day  beneath  the 
grateful  shadow  of  a  blackwood. 

"My  boy,"  he  observed  with  an  indulgent  smile, 
"you  are  quite  wrong.  Acacia  leaves  are  always 
pinnate,  when  there  are  any.  Many  species  are 
leafless.  This  blackwood  that  we  stand  under  with 
umbrage  so  thick  that  it  would  turn  a  hard  shower, 
is  absolutely  leafless.  You  think  that's  another 
California  big  yarn,  but  it's  hard  fact." 

He  snapped  off  a  twig,  and  pointed  to  what  cer- 
tainly looked  like  a  flat,  straight-veined,  straight- 


IN  CALIFORNIA  43 

edged  leaf — the  counterpart  of  a  million  more  that 
made  up  the  crown  of  the  tree. 

"These  things  that  you  take  for  leaves,"  he  went 
on,  "as  you  can  see,  are  simply  the  foot  stalks,  ex- 
panded to  do  a  leaf's  duty.  The  true  leaf  either 
never  develops  or  if,  as  may  be  noticed  in  saplings, 
the  leaf  does  set,  it  soon  disappears.  These  trees 
with  the  leaf  stalks  doing  the  leaf's  work,  always 
remind  me  of  a  young  widow  left  penniless  with  a 
lot  of  children,  and  forced  to  go  into  a  man's  busi- 
ness to  bring  up  the  family." 

Australia  again  is  represented  on  California 
streets  in  the  form  of  the  so-called  silk  oak — Grevil- 
lea  robusta — beautiful  at  all  seasons  because  of  its 
richly  green  fern-like  foliage,  but  presenting  its 
most  striking  appearance  in  late  spring,  when 
lighted  up  with  its  strange  rusty-orange  trusses  of 
bloom.  It  is  a  tree  of  ancient  lineage,  belonging  to 
an  order — the  Proteacece — which  includes  the  oldest 
flowering  plants  on  earth,  the  Adams  of  the  vege- 
table kingdom.  The  Grevillea  is  one  of  several 
trees  growing  in  the  open  on  the  Pacific  Coast,  that 
are  prized  in  colder  countries  as  pot  plants  for  in- 
door decoration,  such  as  the  rubber  and  the  Norfolk 
Island  pine — because  they  are  too  tender  to  stand 
any  considerable  degree  of  frost  and  cannot  there 


44.         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

be  grown  outdoors.  And  still  another  Australasian 
now  and  then  greets  us  by  the  wayside,  but  of  very 
different  aspect,  the  she-oak  or  beef -wood  (Casuar- 
ina  quadrivalvis}.  It  is  a  queer,  gray,  piney-look- 
ing  tree,  and  you  will  probably  pass  it  by  at  first 
as  a  poor  variety  of  conifer.  It  is  worth  knowing, 
however,  for  it  is  a  most  exclusive  tree,  the  genus 
being  quite  alone  in  the  world,  a  family  to  itself; 
and  despite  its  looks,  its  relationship  is  not  at  all 
with  pines,  but  rather  with  birches,  as  you  will  find 
if  you  carry  a  few  of  the  tight-fisted  little  cones 
home  and  lay  them  on  the  mantel,  where  they  will 
soon  open  and  surprise  you  by  scattering  tiny  birch- 
like  winged  seeds  about.  It  is,  moreover,  without 
true  leafage;  what  passes  for  leaves  being  slender, 
short-jointed  stems,  that  pull  apart  at  the  joints  as 
the  stems  of  horse-tails  or  equisetums  do.  The 
form  and  arrangement  of  these  curious  stems  on 
the  tree  somewhat  suggests  the  plumage  of  the  Aus- 
tralian cassowary,  to  which  fact  the  genus  owes  its 
botanical  name,  Casuarina.  The  tough  heartwood 
of  the  trees  is  as  red  as  beef,  whence  the  popular 
name  beef-wood,  and  is  the  material  out  of  which 
the  Tasmanian  aborigines  are  said  to  have  fash- 
ioned their  shields  in  the  good  days  of  old. 

"A  walk  along  a  California  avenue  is  like  a  trip 
around  the  world,"  observed  the  Professor,  as  we 


IN  CALIFORNIA  45 

started  out  for  an  afternoon  stroll  one  winter  day; 
"those  palms  over  there,  for  instance,  are  from 
China,  these  peppers  from  Peru  and  the  eucalypts 
from  Australia.  Those  tall  trees  ahead  of  us,  with 
finely  cut  feathery  leaves,  more  like  bird  plumes 
than  foliage,  are  jacarandas  from  Brazil,  in  some 
respects  the  most  regal  of  our  naturalized  tree  citi- 
zens. A  jacaranda  in  June,  when  it  is  crowned  with 
great  panicles  of  flowers  as  blue  as  Italian  skies, 
is  a  dream.  But  here  is  a  row  of  natty  little  trees ' ' 
— we  had  turned  now  into  a  side  street — "that  I  love 
quite  as  much.  These  are  camphor  trees  from  For- 
mosa. Pinch  one  of  those  black  berries  that  are 
twinkling  everywhere  among  the  leaves,  or  one  of 
the  shiny  little  leaves  themselves,  and  smell  the 
liberated  camphor.  Yes,  this  is  the  source  of  gum 
camphor  in  the  Orient,  but  it  takes  about  thirty 
years,  I  believe,  for  the  tree  to  be  ripe  for  the  busi- 
ness, so  it  is  hardly  likely  that  California  will  go 
in  for  it — that  is  too  slow  for  Americans.  What 
makes  it  a  favorite  here  is  first,  its  wholesome, 
cheerful  appearance  in  all  sorts  of  weather — dry  or 
wet,  hot  or  cold — and  entire  freedom  from  pests — 
maybe  that's  because  of  the  camphor  in  it;  and 
secondly,  its  wonderful  beauty  in  early  spring  when 
the  new  leafage  comes.  Then  the  opening  leaf  buds 
suffuse  the  whole  tree  with  an  exquisite  glow  of 


46         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

color — a  sort  of  tender,  poetic  pink  that  awakens 
enthusiasm  in  the  most  phlegmatic.  You  cannot 
believe  at  a  little  distance  that  the  effect  is  not  due 
to  myriads  of  flowers;  but  it's  only  leaves,  and  the 
color  lingers  in  the  new  foliage  for  weeks.  In  age 
the  tree  develops  marked  branchiness,  the  great 
limbs  flung  about  with  all  the  dignified  gesticula- 
tion of  an  old  oak. 

"  But  there  is  another  tree  I  shall  show  you,  that 
you  are  likely  to  mistake  for  the  camphor  at  other 
seasons  of  the  year,  for  it  is  grown  extensively  for 
street  shade  and  fools  every  new-comer.  It  is  the 
bottle-tree — Sterculia  diversifolia — from  Australia. 
The  way  to  distinguish  it  from  the  camphor  is  to 
note  its  leaves,  which  in  the  bottle-tree  are  odorless 
and  variously  formed,  some  being  entire  but  many 
of  them  cut  into  two  or  three  fingers.  Then  the 
trunk  is  very  different,  being  peculiar  in  having  a 
broad  base  from  which  it  tapers  upward  rather 
markedly,  suggesting  a  certain  type  of  bottle, 
though  the  name  was  given  in  the  first  place  to 
another  species,  Sterculia  rupestris,  with  a  bulged- 
out  trunk  like  one  of  those  English  soda-water  bot- 
tles that  won't  stand  up.  There's  a  lot  of  bottled 
up  usefulness  in  the  Sterculia  tribe — for  it  is  a  big 
family.  There  is  an  illuminant  oil  to  be  extracted 
from  the  seeds,  and  the  seeds  themselves  of  several 


IN  CALIFORNIA  47 

species  have  nutritive  value.  Then  the  inner  bark 
both  of  the  bottle  species  and  its  scarlet-flowered 
cousin  the  maple-leaved  Sterculia,  or  Australian 
flame-tree,  which  we  grow  in  California  for  orna- 
ment, too,  is  a  tough  waterproof  fiber  a  couple  of 
inches  thick,  that  is  good  material  for  cordage  and 
mats.  The  West  Indian  tree  that  chocolate  comes 
from  is  of  the  Sterculia  family,  so  you  may  take  off 
your  hat  to  the  bottle-tree. 

"As  to  coniferous  exotics,  California  agrees  well 
with  a  number.  One  of  them  is  India's  world- 
famous  deodar,  associated  with  her  poets  and  mys- 
tics for  centuries.  It  seems  queer  to  find  this  deni- 
zen of  Himalayan  slopes  up  to  ten  or  twelve  thou- 
sand feet,  perfectly  at  home  at  low  altitudes  in 
Southern  California.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  is 
rather  a  tender  tree  in  America  and  won't  stand  any 
great  degree  of  frost.  One  of  this  State's  most 
famous  arboreal  sights  is  an  avenue  lined  on  both 
sides  with  these  magnificent  conifers  in  Altadena. 
Unfortunately,  the  man  who  set  them  out  did  not 
make  suitable  allowance  for  the  future  growth  of 
the  trees,  and  planted  them  rather  too  close  to- 
gether for  proper  effect  when  mature,  so  that  the 
trees  are  now  crowding  one  another. 

"Now  here's  another  conifer  that  will  interest 
you,"  said  the  Professor,  stopping  before  an  open 


48         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

gate,  and  glancing  into  the  avenue  of  a  private  es- 
tate, where  some  tall  stiff  leaved  evergreens  were 
growing,  with  poker  like  branches  set  in  dish-like 
whorls. 

"See  anything  familiar  about  those  old  hundred- 
footers?  You  remember  the  little  Norfolk  Island 
pines  we  used  to  buy  in  pots  back  East  to  put  on  the 
center  table,  and  see  that  the  furnace  fire  didn't  go 
out  overnight  or  they  would  freeze  to  death?  Well, 
these  are  Norfolk  Island  pines,  only  out  here  the 
climate  permits  them  to  grow  in  the  open,  and  grow 
they  do.  They  are  natives  of  one  of  the  South 
Pacific  Islands  that  Captain  Cook  discovered. 
Araucaria  excelsa  the  botanists  call  this  species. 
You  might  almost  call  it  the  Santa  Barbara  pine  out 
here — that  town  is  so  fond  of  it.  It  is  curious  we 
have  three  species  of  Araucaria  commonly  planted 
in  California  and  each  is  from  a  different  part  of 
the  globe.  Besides  the  one  from  Norfolk  Island, 
there  is  one  from  Australia  and  the  third  is  from 
Chile.  They  are  all  characterized  by  stiff,  prickly 
leaves  crowded  along  the  horizontal  or  slightly 
drooping  branches.  The  Australian  species  is 
Araucaria  Bidwillii  or  bunya-bunya  as  the  Aus- 
tralians call  it.  That  is  one  across  the  way — that 
beautiful  pyramid  of  green  rising  from  the  very 


IN  CALIFORNIA  49 

ground  to  a  height  of  forty  or  fifty  feet.  The 
branches  and  leaves  which  spread  like  little  wings 
from  the  stems  are  so  dense  it  looks  like  a  hard 
tree  to  climb,  and  by  one  of  those  curious  twists 
which  make  popular  nomenclature  so  unreliable,  it 
is  often  called  the  monkey-puzzle  tree,  because  of 
the  supposed  problem  it  offers  the  monkeys  to 
thread  its  intricate  interior.  In  point  of  fact,  how- 
ever, this  name  belongs  to  our  third  species,  Arau- 
caria  imbricata,  a  native  of  the  Chilean  forests,  a 
more  open  tree  with  snakey-looking  branches,  also 
planted  quite  extensively  in  California.  It  may 
puzzle  the  monkeys  to  climb  it,  for  its  leaves  are 
exceedingly  prickly,  but  I  have  been  told  the  real 
puzzle  is  furnished  by  the  tight,  compact  cones  al- 
most as  big  as  a  man's  head.  The  monkeys'  puzzle 
is  to  get  these  open  in  order  to  extract  the  seeds 
which  are  very  delectable  to  the  simian  palate. 
The  cones  of  all  these  Araucarias,  in  fact,  contain 
edible  seeds,  and  this  led  to  the  introduction  of  the 
Chilean  species  into  cultivation  in  England.  It 
seems  that  during  Vancouver's  famous  exploring 
voyage  around  the  world,  and  at  a  dinner  given  in 
Valparaiso  to  the  explorers,  some  of  the  nuts  of 
Araucaria  imbricata  were  served.  With  the  Van- 
couver party  was  the  botanist,  Archibald  Menzies, 


50         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

whose  curiosity  was  aroused  by  the  strange  nuts, 
some  of  which  he  slipped  into  his  pocket  instead  of 
his  mouth,  and  from  them  raised  the  first  specimens 
of  this  tree  ever  seen  out  of  their  native  land." 


Ill 

PLANT  IMMIGRANTS  IN  THE  GOLDEN  STATE 

PLANTS  are  confirmed  travelers  and  though 
handicapped  in  respect  of  locomotion  even 
more  thoroughly  than  the  proverbial  slow-going 
tortoise,  many  of  them  manage  in  time  to  accom- 
plish long  journeys,  and  some  species  have  even  cir- 
cumnavigated the  globe.  Vessels  plying  between 
distant  quarters  of  the  earth  are  the  means  of  carry- 
ing many  wild  seeds  which  cling  to  the  packing  of 
merchandise,  or  are  hidden  in  dirt  ballast.  These 
involuntary  plant  immigrants  dumped  out  in  fa- 
vorable soil  and  finding  a  tolerable  environment, 
begin  life  anew  in  an  alien  land,  and  set  about  in- 
creasing and  multiplying  just  as  energetically  as 
the  human  foreigner  attacks  his  living  in  his  land 
of  promise.  Then,  too,  useful  or  ornamental  plants 
originally  imported  from  other  countries  and  estab- 
lished in  gardens,  often  escape  into  the  road  or  field 
and  if  conditions  are  favorable  to  a  wild  life,  take 
to  gipsying — their  seeds  being  borne  in  time  far  and 
wide  through  the  agency  of  birds,  winds,  running 
si 


52         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

water  and  the  backs  of  animals ;  and  in  these  latter 
days  many  are  transplanted  in  railroad  cars,  on 
which  they  travel,  tramp-like,  without  the  formality 
of  paying  passage  money.  The  Forty-niners'  bean 
importations  brought  into  Central  California  many 
a  seed  that  had  never  been  there  before. 

To  the  plant  lover  these  introduced  plants  are  in 
a  class  to  themselves,  and  the  practised  eye  picks 
them  out  from  the  native  flora  of  the  country,  as 
one  notes  an  Italian  face  or  a  German  figure  in  the 
crowds  of  Broadway.  Often  they  stimulate  the 
fancy  by  their  historical  or  literary  associations. 
In  the  case  of  a  large  proportion  of  our  native 
American  plants,  when  we  have  labeled  them  with 
a  couple  of  Latin  names  searched  out  in  a  botanical 
manual,  their  story  is  told ;  our  country  is  too  young 
for  them  to  have  become  known  to  the  people  and 
to  have  been  accepted  as  partners  in  the  national 
life.  These  floral  foreigners,  however,  that  have 
taken  out  their  naturalization  papers,  and  are 
sturdily  competing  with  the  natives  for  a  share  in 
Columbia's  sunshine  and  soil,  are  quite  frequently 
plants  with  a  known  history  and  so  are  possessed 
of  a  human  interest  that  lends  an  especial  fascina- 
tion to  their  study.  In  California  such  plants  are 
of  comparatively  recent  introduction ;  the  great  ma- 
jority of  them  were  unknown  here  half  a  century 


IN  CALIFORNIA  53 

ago;  a  few  date  back  to  the  days  of  the  Padres. 
Many,  as  might  be  expected,  are  plants  of  the  Medi- 
terranean region,  and  have  reached  California  by 
way  of  Mexico  and  South  America  in  vessels  that 
discharged  at  San  Diego,  Monterey  or  San  Fran- 
cisco. Thence  they  have  spread  gradually  over  the 
State.  In  early  days  the  herds  of  cattle  and  horses 
and  bands  of  sheep  carried  in  their  hairy  coats  many 
a  clinging  seed,  which  fell  miles  from  its  parent, 
and  germinating  in  soil  to  its  taste,  grew  to  plants 
that  bore  other  seeds  which  in  their  turn  were 
caught  up  and  conveyed  still  farther  afield,  until 
whole  valleys  were  sown  that  a  few  years  before 
knew  no  such  plant. 

The  most  remarkable  case  of  this  kind  is  per- 
haps the  wild  oat  (Avena  fatua),  which  though  a 
native  of  Europe  is  the  most  abundant  of  Califor- 
nia's wild  grasses,  and  clothes  the  hills  and  valleys 
of  winter  and  early  spring  with  a  green  as  vivid  as 
Ireland's.  Hittell,  in  his  history  of  the  State,  says 
that  as  late  as  1835  it  was  confined  to  the  region 
south  of  San  Francisco ;  then  with  the  extension  of 
white  settlements  to  the  north,  the  flocks  and  herds 
began  to  spread  it  northward.  Twenty  years  later, 
in  1855,  Dr.  Newberry,  the  botanist  of  the  William- 
son Survey,  stated  that  the  greater  part  of  the  Sac- 
ramento Valley,  as  well  as  the  San  Joaquin  and  the 


54         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

unforested  portions  of  the  Coast  Range,  were  cov- 
ered hill  and  plain  for  hundreds  of  miles  with  an 
almost  uninterrupted  self-sown  growth  of  wild  oats, 
making  a  carpet  as  complete  as  the  grassy  covering 
of  an  Illinois  prairie.  Travelers  of  those  early 
days  speak  of  the  remarkable  tallness  of  this  grass 
which  they  could  bend  and  tie  across  the  horses' 
backs,  and  in  swales  the  growth  was  so  rank  that 
riders  on  horseback  could  not  see  one  another  ten 
feet  away.  To-day  it  grows  in  soberer  fashion,  a 
stalk  of  three  feet  being  esteemed  a  high  one.  Al- 
though in  one  sense  a  weed,  it  is  a  valuable  grass, 
affording  a  nutritious  wild  pasture  appearing  with 
the  first  rains  of  winter;  and  also  makes  good  hay 
— at  least  in  the  estimation  of  Californians.  East- 
ward it  is  more  or  less  in  disfavor.  To  the  plant 
collector  whose  interests  are  more  purely  esthetic, 
the  loose,  trembling  panicles  of  the  blooming  plant 
are  extremely  ornamental.  A  patch  of  wild  oats 
at  that  stage  of  growth  with  orange-yellow  poppies 
glowing  here  and  there  in  the  midst,  makes  a  charm- 
ing bit  in  Nature's  wild  garden,  which  may  well  be 
imitated  by  the  arranger  of  cut-flowers  within  doors. 
"The  Pacific  Coast,"  remarked  the  Professor  one 
day  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "is  a  land  of  para- 
doxes— the  squirrels  live  in  the  ground;  the  rats 


IN  CALIFORNIA  55 

nest  in  the  trees ;  the  rivers  flow  upside  down,  and  a 
man's  wild  oats  are  a  crop  worth  harvesting!" 

Mixed  more  or  less  nowadays  with  other  grasses 
throughout  California  is  the  European  wall-  or 
mouse-barley  (Hordeum  murinum).  Foxtail,  Cali- 
fornians  call  it,  and  it  is  a  serious  nuisance  when 
old  because  of  the  bristly  floral  spikes.  These  then 
break  up,  and  the  long  awns  are  not  only  liable  to 
make  trouble  in  the  mouths  of  animals,  but  they 
work  their  pestiferous  way  through  people's  cloth- 
ing and  into  the  cracks  and  openings  of  their  shoes 
to  the  prodigious  discomfort  of  the  wearers.  Still 
another  wild  pasture-plant,  which  by  many  botanists 
though  not  by  all,  is  held  to  have  been  introduced 
from  southern  Europe,  is  the  stork  Vbill,  a  member 
of  the  geranium  family  (Er odium  cicutarium) ,  com- 
monly known  as  pin-grass  or  filaree — the  latter 
word  a  corruption  of  the  herb's  Spanish  name  al- 
filerilla,  meaning  a  little  pin.  It  carpets  pretty 
much  all  of  wild  California  out  in  the  sun,  that  the 
wild  oat  has  not  monopolized,  and  is  equally  valued 
as  pasturage.  It  is  a  pretty  little  plant  that 
spreads  its  leafy  rosettes,  often  tinged  with  red, 
over  hundreds  of  miles  of  the  winter  earth.  Soon 
after  New  Year's,  little  stars  of  magenta  bloom 
begin  to  glimmer  in  the  sod,  and  as  the  petals  fade 


56         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

there  rises  from  each  flower  the  long  beak  of  the 
seed  pod,  whose  resemblance  to  a  pin  has  suggested 
the  common  name.  With  country  children  the  al- 
filerilla  is  an  especial  favorite,  as  the  ripe  sharp- 
pointed  seeds  possess  long  wiry,  twisting  tails 
have  a  fashion  of  boring  their  way  into  one 's  cloth- 
ing, while  the  horizontal  tips  of  the  tails  revolve 
slowly  like  the  hands  of  a  clock — a  trick  very  capti- 
vating to  the  childlike  mind  of  all  ages.  When  the 
seeds  fall  to  earth,  these  curious  appendages  act  as 
seed  planters — the  alternate  dampening  of  the  dew 
and  the  drying  of  the  sun  causing  a  rotary  move- 
ment which  drives  the  seeds  into  the  ground.  The 
red  ants  have  a  fondness  for  these  seeds  and  carry 
them  into  their  subterranean  apartments,  having 
first  nibbled  off  the  tails,  which  are  often  found  lying 
in  heaps  outside  the  hills. 

Mingled  everywhere  with  the  alfilerilla  and  wild 
grasses,  is  a  clover-like  plant  with  small  blossoms 
that  look  like  specks  of  gold.  Examined  closely, 
they  are  seen  to  be  like  pea  blossoms.  This  is  still 
another  Old  World  plant  of  forage  value,  native  to 
Mediterranean  countries,  though  the  date  of  its  in- 
troduction is  unknown.  It  is  bur-clover,  or  Medi- 
cago  denticulata.  Possibly  it  owes  its  start  in  Cali- 
fornia to  seeds  that  made  the  trip  from  Spain  in 
Mission  days  in  the  wool  of  imported  sheep.  Many 


IN  CALIFORNIA  57 

a  tender-hearted  tourist,  when  the  dry  season  has 
set  in  and  California  pastures  are  as  brown  as  an 
eastern  November,  has  had  his  sympathy  awakened 
by  seeing  bands  of  cattle  or  sheep  nosing  over  the 
clods  of  a  barren  field  in  an  apparently  hopeless 
search  for  feed.  It  seemed  like  a  case  for  the  So- 
ciety for  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals,  but  in 
reality  the  beasts  were  licking  up  the  pods  of  the 
bur-clover.  Curiously  enough  the  stems  and  leaves 
of  this  plant,  which  is  a  close  relative  of  alfalfa,1 
have  little  or  no  attraction  for  the  animals ;  but  the 
queer  little  coiled  seed-pods  about  the  size  of  peas 
and  quite  dry  and  prickly,  are  palatable  to  them  and 
fattening. 

The  wild  black  mustard  (Brassica  nigra),  which 
is  an  influential  plant  in  the  spring  landscape,  cov- 
ering vast  areas  with  rippling  lakes  of  fragrant  yel- 
low bloom,  is  another  naturalized  foreigner.  It  has 
spread  from  inconsiderable  beginnings,  perhaps  in 
Mission  times,  when  it  may  have  been  sown  in  the 

i  Hay  in  California  is  usually  not  cured  grass,  but  the  dried  stalks 
of  the  cereal  grains,  oats,  barley  and  wheat  (cut  before  fully  ripe) 
and  the  leguminous  plant  alfalfa.  The  last,  used,  in  the  Old  World 
as  fodder  for  at  least  2500  years,  was  introduced  into  Spanish-Amer- 
ica in  the  sixteenth  century.  Its  culture  on  a  large  scale  in  Cali- 
fornia seems  to  have  begun  about  1854  from  seed  got  from  Chile, 
though  it  is  incredible  that  the  Franciscan  Missionaries  should  not 
have  introduced  it  in  their  day  with  other  economical  plants,  and 
probably  they  did. 


58         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

Franciscans'  kitchen-gardens  for  its  seeds.  If  so, 
it  doubtless  speedily  escaped  into  the  open,  for  there 
is  a  tradition  that  at  the  season  of  its  vernal  blos- 
soming the  old  camino  real  which  linked  the  Mis- 
sions together,  became  every  year  like  a  golden 
chain  from  the  mustard,  which  had  sprung  up  in 
the  Padres'  footsteps.  The  plant  is  one  of  two  or 
three  whose  seeds  nowadays  furnish  the  mustard  of 
commerce. 

"The  seed  is  hotter  than  white  mustard,"  said 
one  of  my  California  acquaintances,  "it's  red  hot, 
and  tons  of  it  have  been  shipped  out  of  the  State; 
yet  there 's  enough  of  it  goes  to  waste  every  year  in 
one  county,  I  guess,  to  season  the  ham  sandwiches 
of  the  world." 

It  frequently  overtops  the  head  of  people  on 
horseback,  and  a  man  afoot  might  lose  himself  in  a 
thicket  of  it  almost  as  completely  as  in  a  tropical 
jungle.  There  is  good  reason  to  believe  that  this 
vigorous  plant  is  one  with  the  New  Testament  mus- 
tard which  from  the  smallest  of  seeds  grew  into  a 
tree  in  which  the  fowls  of  the  air  found  lodging,  as 
myriads  of  them  do  in  California  to-day ;  for  the  self- 
same species  has  been  cultivated  for  centuries  in 
Syria  where  it  reaches  the  height  sometimes  of  fif- 
teen feet.  To  the  lover  of  delicate  floral  beauty  for 
its  own  sake,  the  mustard  makes  a  strong  appeal, 


IN  CALIFORNIA  59 

and  every  spring  it  is  exclaimed  over  by  rapturous 
tourists  and  residents  alike,  who  gather  it  by  the 
armful  for  home  decoration.  It  is  one  of  the  plants 
that  have  an  assured  place  in  American  literature, 
as  every  reader  of  California's  most  popular  ro- 
mance, "Bamona,"  will  recall. 

The  plants  that  people  denominate  weeds,  are  to  a 
great  extent  foreigners  which  have  confounded  lib- 
erty with  license  and  made  a  nuisance  of  themselves. 
The  prevalent  weeds  of  the  Pacific  Coast,  the  ob- 
server soon  finds,  are  quite  different  from  those  on 
the  Atlantic  side  of  the  Continent;  and  he  is  not 
long  afield  in  California  before  he  runs  afoul  of  that 
Old  World  herb  that  our  grandmothers  back  East 
used  to  cultivate  in  their  gardens  for  its  tonic  and 
cough-subduing  qualities — to  wit,  horehound.  It 
was  probably  first  brought  to  California  in  the  early 
days  of  the  American  occupation,  by  some  settler 
who  liked  to  keep  up  the  old  practise  of  having  a 
root  of  it  in  the  garden  for  domestic  emergencies. 
To-day  it  is  one  of  the  most  widely  distributed  weeds 
in  the  State,  taking  possession  of  road-sides,  old 
fields,  vacant  lots  and  pastures,  and  disputing  with 
you  the  possession  of  your  flower  beds  and  truck 
patches.  Late  in  the  summer  and  in  the  autumn  it 
is  as  annoying  to  the  pedestrian  as  the  beggar's 
ticks  are  in  the  East,  its  prickly  calyces  fastening 


60        WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

themselves  to  his  clothing  in  the  same  fashion  and 
as  multitudinously.  Superficial  observers  mistake 
horehound  at  long  range  for  catnip — an  error  that 
pussy  never  falls  into,  for  it  lacks  entirely  the  aro- 
matic exhilaration  of  the  latter  herb,  which  curi- 
ously does  not  seem  to  take  kindly  to  tramping  in 
California. 

Another  weed  that  has  become  very  troublesome 
in  parts  of  California  is  a  conspicuous  thistle  with 
large  prickly  edged  leaves  showily  blotched  with 
white,  out  of  which  rise  purple  flower  heads.  It  is 
an  immigrant  from  Mediterranean  shores,  where  it 
is  indigenous  from  Spain  to  Greece — Silybum 
Marianum,  milk- thistle  or  Our  Lady's  Thistle.  To 
the  student  of  folk  lore  it  is  precious  because  of  an 
Old  World  tradition  that  clings  to  it,  in  explana- 
tion of  the  white  spots  upon  the  leaves.  These,  the 
legend  says,  are  the  markings  of  drops  of  milk 
which  fell  from  the  Virgin's  breast  as  she  nursed 
the  infant  Christ.  The  plant's  port  of  entry  seems 
to  have  been  San  Francisco  where  it  began  to  be  no- 
ticed about  1853;  and  it  is  more  abundant,  still,  in 
Central  California  than  in  the  south.  Mr.  S.  B. 
Parish,  in  an  interesting  and  valuable  contribution 
to  our  knowledge  of  the  naturalized  plants  of  Cali- 
fornia,2 records  its  first  appearance  near  San  Ber- 

2  Published  in  Zoe,  Vol.  1,  No.  1,  et  scq. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  61 

nardino,  about  1885.  "The  mottled  foliage  of  the 
unknown  waif,"  he  states,  ''found  favor  in  the  eyes 
of  the  owner  of  the  adjoining  land,  who  carefully 
protected  it  from  accidental  destruction,  to  see  what 
it  would  come  to.  It  came  in  a  few  years  to  occupy 
almost  all  the  road,  and  its  early  protector  has  paid 
for  his  mistaken  charity,  by  assiduous  and  only  par- 
tially successful  effort  to  eradicate  it." 

Still  another  Old  "Worldling  against  which  the 
Californians  would  like  to  enforce  the  exclusion  act, 
is  a  tall  umbellifer  with  finely  dissected,  threadlike 
leaves,  and  flat-topped  masses  of  yellow  flowers,  the 
whole  plant  abounding  in  the  fragrance  of  licorice. 
By  one  of  the  perversions  which  attends  so  many 
popular  names,  it  is  generally  called  sweet  anise. 
It  is  really  fennel  (Foeniculum  vulgare),  cultivated 
in  Europe  from  very  early  times — the  fennel  with 
which  victors  were  crowned  at  ancient  games;  the 
fennel  of  Shakespeare  and  of  Longfellow: 

"Above  the  lowly  plant  it  towers, 
The  fennel,  with  its  yellow  flowers; 
And  in  an  earlier  age  than  ours 
"Was  gifted  with  the  wondrous  powers 
Lost  vision  to  restore. 

It  gave  new  strength  and  fearless  mood, 
And  gladiators,  fierce  and  rude, 
Mingled  it  in  their  daily  food, 


62         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

And  he  who  battled  and  subdued, 
The  wreath  of  fennel  wore. ' ' 3 

Doubtless  its  presence  in  California  harks  back  to 
Mission  days,  when  the  Padres  perhaps  raised  it  in 
their  gardens,  as  its  seeds  have  long  had  a  reputation 
in  domestic  medicine  as  a  carminative ;  but  however 
it  first  arrived,  it  is  now  widely  distributed  as  a 
weed.  It  is  well  known  to  Spanish-Californians, 
who  call  it  anis  hinojo.  Father  St.  John  0  'Sullivan, 
of  the  Mission  San  Juan  Capistrano,  tells  me  that  in 
former  days  the  Spanish  people  used  to  put  the 
broken-up  leaves  in  water  for  sprinkling  on  the 
floors  of  the  Mission  church  to  make  the  place  smell 
sweet.  The  pleasant  flavor  of  the  plant  has  long 
made  it  attractive  to  California  children,  who  find 
enjoyment  in  chewing  the  buds  and  young  leaves. 
This  use  of  the  herb,  according  to  Mr.  J.  Burtt 
Davy,  gained  for  it  among  the  young  folk  of  San 
Francisco  the  polite  name  of  " ladies'  chewing  to- 
bacco." 

Perhaps  it  is  hardly  just  to  call  so  dainty  a  little 
charmer  as  sweet  alyssum  a  weed;  but  it  certainly 
has  established  itself  on  many  a  bit  of  vacant  ground 
in  California,  and  in  the  gardens  it  spreads  every- 
where in  bed  and  path  regardless  of  whether  wanted 

3  "The  Goblet  of  Life." 


IN  CALIFORNIA  63 

or  not.  With  it  and  even  more  persistent  as  an  in- 
truder in  gardens  is  the  scarlet  pimpernel  whose 
salmon-red  starry  blossoms  with  a  dark  eye  are  so 
pretty  that  tender-hearted  gardeners  generally 
leave  a  few  where  they  will  do  least  harm.  It  is  a 
famous  Old  World  plant — this  scarlet  pimpernel — 
which,  because  of  its  habit  of  closing  its  flowers 
when  clouds  gather  and  upon  the  approach  of  even- 
ing, is  called  by  English  country  folk  by  a  number 
of  names  appropriate  to  the  fact,  such  as  Poor 
Man's  Weather-glass,  Shepherd's  Warning,  Shep- 
herd's Clock,  Wink-a-peep,  and  so  on.  Then  there  is 
a  quaint  little  grass  that  has  drifted  uninvited  into 
our  gardens  and  waste  places  from  across  the  sea, 
Lamarkia  aurea,  whose  one-sided  panicles  of  sil- 
very-gray bloom  tinged  with  pink  or  yellow,  make 
it  an  object  of  pleasurable  interest.  It  is  another  of 
the  Mediterranean  fellowship,  and  its  appearance  in 
Southern  California,  where  it  is  most  abundant, 
dates  from  1875,  when,  according  to  Mr.  Parish,  the 
botanists  Parry  and  Lemmon  discovered  it  growing 
in  a  canon  back  of  Eedlands.  It  has  now  won  popu- 
lar favor  to  a  degree  that  has  gained  for  it  a  com- 
mon name — golden-top. 

That  so  confirmed  a  globe  trotter  as  the  Castor- 
oil  plant  (Ricinus  communis),  which  originating  in 
India  has  now  established  itself  in  every  tropical 


64         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

country  in  the  world,  should  have  become  natural- 
ized in  the  warmer  parts  of  California,  is  not  sur- 
prising, and  it  occurs  not  infrequently  as  extensive 
thickets  in  the  open,  seeding  itself  and  attaining  the 
dimensions  of  a  small  tree.  From  its  abundance 
about  old  Spanish  settlements  and  the  vicinity  of 
the  Missions,  it  probably  was  first  planted  by  the 
Padres,  both  for  the  sake  of  the  oil  bearing  seeds, 
whose  properties  are  well  known  the  world  over, 
and  for  the  regal  beauty  of  the  plant  itself.  The 
large  five-fingered  leaves  are  a  marked  feature  to 
which  it  owes  its  popular  Old  World  name — palma 
Christi,  the  hand  of  Christ.  Such  sacred  associa- 
tion might  well  have  helped  to  commend  it  for  in- 
clusion in  the  Mission  gardens.  Mexicans  call  it 
'higuerilla,  little  fig  tree,  perhaps  from  some  resem- 
blance of  leaf.  Companioning  the  Castor-oil  plant 
frequently  is  another  arboreal  weed,  which  is 
thought  by  many  to  have  had  its  start  in  California 
as  an  ornamental  shrub  in  gardens — that  is,  Nico- 
tiana  glauca.  It  often  makes  considerable  thickets 
too,  and  I  have  seen  it  in  congenial  surroundings  as 
tall  as  twenty-five  feet,  with  a  trunk  three  to  four 
inches  in  diameter  at  the  base. 

Its  blue-green  leaves  and  tubular  yellow  flowers, 
in  bloom  most  of  the  year,  are  its  recommendations 
for  a  place  among  ornamentals,  but  the  present-day 


IN  CALIFORNIA  65 

competition  of  the  pick  of  the  world,  has  relegated 
this  old  favorite  to  the  dump.  The  dust-like  seeds 
are  borne  far  and  wide  by  the  wind,  and  frequently 
germinate  in  the  chinks  of  adobe  house  walls,  where 
if  undisturbed  the  plants  grow  to  a  considerable 
size  and  bloom,  hanging  on,  as  it  were,  by  their  toes. 
It  is  popularly  known  in  California  as  wild  or  In- 
dian tobacco,  and  is  a  real  tobacco,  cousin  to  Lady 
Nicotine.  Mr.  C.  F.  Lummis  tells  me  that  Indians 
and  Calif ornians  used  to  smoke  the  leaves  in  their 
cigarettes,  and  the  Spanish  speaking  people  of  this 
State  and  of  Mexico  call  it  Buena  moza,  which  is 
Spanish  for  a  fine  girl.  It  is  indigenous  to  Argen- 
tine, and  has  long  been  naturalized  in  Mexico  as  well 
as  in  California. 


IV 

TREE  HUNTING  ON  A  CALIFORNIA  DESERT 

IT  was  on  my  first  trip  to  California  as  the  train 
slowly  climbed  the  monotonous  stretch  of  the 
Mojave  Desert  towards  the  Cajon  Pass,  which  cuts 
the  snowy  crest  of  the  San  Bernardino  sierra  to  let 
the  traveler  into  the  land  of  the  orange  and  the 
palm,  that  looking  up  from  my  book  I  caught  sight 
through  the  car  window  of  one  of  the  most  remark- 
able forests  in  the  world.  It  was  not  a  forest  of  the 
kind  the  Easterner  knows,  with  twilight  aisles  and 
a  floor  deep  in  leafage  and  underbrush ;  but  open  to 
the  sun,  the  individual  trees  set  well  apart  from  one 
another  in  gravelly  ground  where  little  else  was 
growing.  The  trees  themselves  were  as  grotesque 
as  the  creations  of  a  bad  dream;  the  shaggy  trunks 
and  limbs  were  twisted  and  seemed  writhing  as 
though  in  pain,  and  the  dagger-pointed  leaves  were 
clenched  in  bristling  fists  of  inhospitality.  As  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach,  the  strange  forest  extended — 
some  of  the  trees  all  trunk,  barring  a  bud-like  club 
or  two  of  branch,  some  a  little  better  grown  resem- 


IN  CALIFORNIA  67 

bling  huge  forks  with  clumsy  prongs,  others  with 
well  grown  crowns  that  were  fairly  symmetrical. 

"So  that's  the  desert's  idea  of  a  tree,"  I  re- 
marked for  the  benefit  of  my  neighbor,  a  quiet, 
weather-beaten  man,  with  a  close-cropped  gray 
beard.  He,  too,  was  watching  them  with  apparent 
interest. 

"That's  one  of  its  ideas,"  he  responded  smilingly. 
"You  perhaps  don't  know  the  desert?" 

I  confessed  my  ignorance,  and  my  companion 
went  on: 

"They  are  tree  yuccas,1  or  yucca  cactus  as  our 
desert  dwellers  sometimes  inaccurately  term  them. 
The  species  is  peculiar  to  the  Mojave  Desert,  prin- 
cipally in  California  but  extending  eastward  to 
Southern  Utah.  The  unbranched  trunks  are  the 
saplings.  When  they  are  ten  or  twelve  feet  high, 
they  begin  to  branch  out,  adding  a  few  limbs  year 
by  year  until  they  get  a  pretty  good  crown,  as  you 
see,  and  reach  a  height  of  twenty-five  or  thirty  feet, 
when  they  rest  on  their  laurels.  The  upper  leaves 
on  the  branch  stand  upright,  but  as  growth  pro- 
ceeds, they  droop  over;  and  when  they  die  they  are 
pressed  point  downward  against  the  bark.  That 

i  Yucca  arborescens,  or  brevifolia,  of  the  botanists.  Fremont  re- 
ported the  existence  of  the  strange  tree  in  1844,  though  it  was  not  un- 
til 1874  that  its  flowers  were  collected  by  Dr.  C.  C.  Parry,  and  a  com- 
plete description  made  possible. 


68         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

makes  the  sort  of  brown  thatch  which  you  notice 
covering  the  limbs  and  part  of  the  trunk,  and  which 
is  a  natural  protection  against  the  sand  and  wind 
storms  that  are  the  terror  of  desert  life.  The  desert 
folks  when  in  need  of  diversion,  sometimes  touch  a 
match  to  this  thatch  after  dark  for  the  sake  of  see- 
ing the  fire  run  through  the  tree  from  limb  to  limb, 
a  striking  sight  against  the  murky  background  of 
the  night." 

A  hatchet-faced,  smooth-shaven  man,  who  looked 
like  a  bank  president  and  was  an  interested  listener 
to  the  little  lecture,  inquired  if  the  trees  were  of 
any  practical  use. 

"In  a  limited  way,  yes,"  replied  our  man  of 
knowledge.  "The  wood  is  spongy,  but  full  of  fiber 
which  makes  it  tough  and  pliable,  and  it  has  been 
used  in  the  manufacture  of  artificial  limbs  and 
cylindrical  sheathing  for  young  orchard  trees  to 
protect  them  from  rabbits;  but  its  special  mission 
would  seem  to  be  for  surgeons'  splints.  When 
soaked  in  water  and  bound  to  a  man's  arm  or  leg  the 
wood  conforms  to  the  part,  and  being  porous  admits 
circulation  of  air.  Paper  makers  have  long  had  an 
idea  that  it  ought  to  do  for  paper  pulp,  and  a  Lon- 
don publisher  once  had  a  shipment  of  it  made  to 
England,  but  the  paper  it  turned  out  was  not  sat- 
isfactory. As  fuel  the  wood  is  useless  in  the  or- 


Tree  yucca,  Mojave  Des< 


IN  CALIFORNIA  69 

dinary  way,  but  prospectors  tell  me  that  after  a 
tree  has  fallen  and  lain  for  years  until  most  of  it 
has  crumbled  away,  there  is  a  residue  which  is  called 
petrified  yucca.  It  is  hard  and  brittle,  of  a  reddish 
color,  and  will  take  a  good  polish.  That  has  value 
as  a  fuel  and  burns  like  coal.  But  aside  from  what- 
ever practical  use  it  may  be  capable  of,  the  tree 
yucca  is  one  of  the  most  striking  features  of  our 
desert.  It  is  so  different  from  other  trees,  so  de- 
fiant and  upstanding  in  a  land  of  monotonous  sub- 
serviency to  sand  and  rocks,  that  I  don't  wonder  it 
made  an  impression  on  the  old  time  Mormons  in 
their  desert  wanderings,  as  it  did.  It  would  seem 
to  have  had  a  prophetic  significance  to  some  of  them, 
for  they  gave  it  in  Southern  Utah  the  name  of 
Joshua  tree,  as  though  they  regarded  it  as  the  sym- 
bol of  a  divinely  appointed  leader  in  the  final  stage 
of  some  pioneering  expedition,  bringing  them,  at 
last  into  their  Land  of  Promise." 

After  this  dissertation  I  felt,  tenderfoot  like,  that 
I  knew  about  all  that  was  to  be  known  of  trees  on 
the  desert;  but  a  fresh  arboreal  surprise  was  in 
store  for  me.  As  I  sat  a  few  days  later  in  cheerful 
comfort  before  a  bright  hardwood  fire  in  the  Pro- 
fessor's bungalow  in  Pasadena,  it  occurred  to  me 
to  ask  him  where  he  got  such  fine  wood — it  seemed 
as  hard  as  coal. 


70         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

"From  the  desert,"  he  replied;  "it  is  mesquit." 

"So  there  are  other  trees  on  the  desert  besides 
yuccas?"  I  returned. 

The  Professor  laughed '  softly  in  an  indulgent 
way. 

"There's  more  on  the  desert,  my  boy,"  said  he, 
"than  is  dreamt  of  in  tenderfoot  philosophy.  I  tell 
you  what  let's  do.  You  are  fond  of  plant  life.  It 
is  now  the  middle  of  March.  Let's  take  the  camera 
and  go  to  the  desert  on  a  tree  hunt.  It  is  less  ex- 
citing than  gunning  for  bear,  but  for  the  contempla- 
tive mind  it  holds  attractions,  and  is  much  less  dan- 
gerous." 

And  that  is  how  we  came  to  be,  a  week  or  so  later, 
on  the  Colorado  Desert — which,  by  the  way,  is  not 
in  the  State  of  Colorado  as  the  name  might  imply, 
but  in  the  southeastern  corner  of  California,  just 
across  from  Arizona  of  which  it  seems  naturally  a 
part.  Besides  the  Professor  and  myself,  there  was 
Mr.  Carl  Eytel,  an  artist  who  for  many  years  has 
painted  up  and  down  this  desert  and  in  a  sense  made 
it  his  own,  for  he  knows  as  few  white  men  do  its  ins 
and  outs,  its  terrors  and  its  latent  loveliness,  its 
Indians  and  its  floating  population  of  prospectors 
and  cowboys  and  "desert  rats."  To  the  inexperi- 
enced traveler  on  the  desert,  the  companionship  of 
one  familiar  with  its  trails  and  watering  places  is 


IN  CALIFORNIA  71 

all  but  essential,  as  to  be  lost  may  easily  mean  death. 
In  default  of  such  a  guide,  it  is  prudent  to  keep  close 
to  some  one  of  the  settlements  on  or  near  the  rail- 
way, such  as  Palm  Springs,  Indio,  or  Mecca,  making 
short  trips  of  not  over  a  day  from  one  of  them  as  a 
base.  Unless  the  distances  are  very  great,  walking 
is  perhaps  the  best  method  of  locomotion  for  the 
plant  collector,  as  he  needs  to  stop  continually  to 
observe  or  gather ;  but  a  burro  or  other  pack-animal 
to  carry  the  canteen,  the  chuck-box,  the  camera,  and 
the  collections,  is  something  more  than  a  luxury  in 
the  desert  heat  and  sand — it  is  pretty  nearly  a  ne- 
cessity. 

Our  starting  point  was  the  oasis-village  of  Palm 
Springs,  six  miles  from  the  station  of  the  same  name 
on  the  Southern  Pacific  Railway ;  and  we  were  afoot 
in  the  first  delicious  freshness  of  the  desert  morn- 
ing. Our  traps  were  packed  on  Eytel's  horse,  who 
has  since  made  his  debut  in  literature  as  "the  philo- 
sophical Billy,"  of  Mr.  J.  Smeaton  Chase's  de- 
lightful book,  "California  Coast  Trails."  We 
struck  eastward,  leaving  to  our  left  the  old  historic 
stage  road  that  plows  away  through  the  sand  to 
the  Imperial  Valley  and  Yuma,  and  followed  trails 
through  the  creosote  and  sage  along  the  base  of  the 
San  Jacinto  Mountains,  whose  mighty  wall  rose  at 
our  right  to  an  elevation  of  two  miles  above  the 


72         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

desert  floor.  Up  there  the  snow  was  packed  many 
feet  deep  among  the  pines  and  firs,  the  fountain 
head  of  sparkling  streams  that  came  bounding  down 
the  precipitous  canons  which  here  and  there  split 
the  mountain's  side.  Clear  of  the  mountains,  val- 
iantly these  waters  charge  the  desert  sands  forc- 
ing fast  narrowing  channels  through  bowlder- 
strewn  washes ;  but  the  odds  are  too  great,  and  they 
are  soon  engulfed  in  the  waste  of  aridity.  Though 
lost  to  sight,  however,  their  hidden  influence  is  long 
felt  and  serves  to  give  life  along  and  in  these  washes 
to  a  rather  abundant  floral  life,  some  of  it  arboreal, 
and  in  such  a  place  we  found  our  first  desert  wil- 
lows. 

"Not  willows  at  all,"  the  Professor  complained, 
for  he  has  a  distaste  for  inaccuracy,  "but  really 
cousins  of  the  catalpa  that  you  all  know  back  East. 
Chilopsis  saligna,  or  linearis  I  believe  they  call  it 
now.*' 

They  were,  nevertheless,  not  a  bad  imitation  of 
willows  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  high,  with  their 
crooked  trunks  in  approved  willow  fashion  leaning 
over  the  wash  where  then  only  the  memory  of  water 
was,  and  their  slender  branches  clothed  with  nar- 
row, willowy  leaves.  The  opening  flower  clusters, 
however,  told  a  story  that  no  willows  ever  uttered — 
white  trumpets  of  loveliness,  suffused  with  purple, 


IN  CALIFORNIA  73 

and  in  their  throats  patches  of  yellow,  blowing  to 
the  desert  air  a  faint  fragrance  as  of  violets.  Amid 
the  foliage  hung  still  a  few  seed  pods  of  the  year  be- 
fore, in  shape  like  elongated  string  beans,  but  dry 
and  brown  now  and  splitting  to  release  queer,  lit- 
tle, silken-fringed  seeds. 

A  dry  tangle  of  litter  and  drifted  brush,  ridges 
of  sand  and  a  huddle  of  rocks  gave  a  look  of  sloven- 
liness to  the  locality  in  which  the  desert  willows 
stood,  and  the  trees  themselves  grew  bunchily  and 
untidily;  but  a  short  distance  away  were  a  half- 
dozen  trees  that  for  neatness  and  smartness  of  ap- 
pearance I  had  never  seen  surpassed  in  a  city  park. 
They  stood,  some  twenty  feet  in  height,  in  clean, 
level  ground  swept  clear  by  the  wind,  and  were  re- 
markable for  a  general  airiness  of  aspect  for  which 
I  could  not  at  first  account.  I  walked  over  to  one 
but  it  was  some  moments  before  I  realized  that  the 
entire  bark  of  the  tree — trunk,  branches  and 
twigs — was  light  green.  Moreover,  the  leaves  were 
quite  small,  pale  and  sparse,  so  that  the  limb-skele- 
ton showed  plainly  through  the  foliage;  and  to 
crown  all,  a  wealth  of  bright  yellow  flowers,  each 
about  the  size  of  a  buttercup,  filled  the  tree  with  a 
mild  radiance  that  seemed  of  a  world  more  spiritual 
than  this.  The  effect  of  the  green  and  gold  against 
a  cloudless,  turquoise  sky,  thrilled  me  as  a  strain 


74         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

of  wild  music.  Eytel  had  his  paint  box  out  and  was 
making  color  notes. 

"Isn't  that  alone  worth  the  price  of  admission?" 
observed  the  Professor  complacently. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked,  and  my  awestruck  tone 
must  have  sounded  as  if  I  thought  myself  in  a 
sanctuary. 

The  Professor's  preciseness  of  reply  was  jarring. 

"Parkinsonia  Torreyana  is  the  old-fashioned 
name,  but  the  modern  iconoclasts  who  are  un- 
happy if  not  smashing  the  old  botanical  nomencla- 
ture, insist  on  calling  it  Cercidium  Torreyanum. 
Everybody  on  the  desert  calls  it  palo  verde.  That 's 
Spanish  for  green  tree,  and  a  good  honest  name, 
for  it  is  green,  bark  and  all.  Isn't  it  a  glorious 
posy?  You  would  find  it  if  you  traveled  east  all 
along  the  way  into  Arizona ;  and  down  through  the 
Sonoran  Desert  of  old  Mexico  and  in  the  arid 
peninsula  of  Lower  California  it  follows  you  like  the 
providence  of  God." 

Here  a  temporary  diversion  in  our  Jornada  was 
occasioned  by  the  necessity  of  a  search  for  our 
philosophical  pack  horse,  which  had  taken  advantage 
of  our  preoccupation  to  vanish  from  sight.  He  was 
trailed,  however,  by  his  broken  tie-rope  and  event- 
ually captured,  poetically  browsing  on  a  flowery 
patch  of  pink  sand  verbena,  his  pack  slipped  beneath 


IN  CALIFORNIA  75 

his  belly.  This  adjusted,  we  resumed  our  inarch 
of  discovery. 

For  some  time  my  eyes  had  been  caught  by  what 
seemed  to  be  a  cloudlet  of  smoke  hanging  still  and 
low  over  the  desert  ahead  of  us  and  now  three  or 
four  more  came  into  view,  a  couple  of  hundred  yards 
away. 

"Campers  ahead!"  I  thought.  To  my  astonish- 
ment, as  we  drew  nearer,  the  supposititious  smoke 
resolved  itself  into  an  airy  tangle  of  grayish  twigs 
and  branches,  and  my  cloudlet  stood  revealed  as  a 
small  tree  with  all  the  tender  atmosphere  of  a  paint- 
ing by  Corot.  The  delicate  limbs  were  clothed  in  a 
minute  white  down  to  the  very  tips  of  the  twigs, 
and  though  all  the  rest  of  the  desert  shrubbery  that 
day  of  late  March,  was  in  the  fulness  of  its  foliage, 
this  little  tree  was  leafless.  Spines  as  sharp  as 
needles  were  set  singly  but  abundantly  upon  the 
branches.  Was  it  dead!  I  asked.  But  the  Pro- 
fessor assured  me  it  was  very  much  alive. 

"It  is  Dalea  spinosa,"  he  said,  "or  smoke  tree,  a 
popular  name  whose  accuracy  you  can  now  endorse. 
Indigo  bush  is  another  name  I  have  heard  for  it,  but 
you  have  to  be  here  in  mid- June  to  understand  why. 
Then  these  apparently  lifeless  branches  wake  up  and 
the  whole  tree  bursts  into  glorious  bloom — an  al- 
most solid  mass  of  small  pea-blossoms  of  the  rich- 


76         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

est  indigo  blue.  You  never  doubt  miracles  after 
once  seeing  that — such  gorgeousness  of  flowering  on 
dry  sticks  rooted  in  sand. ' ' 

"I'd  call  that  blue  an  ultramarine,"  said  Eytel 
who  had  the  artist's  sensitiveness  to  color. 

Of  all  the  desert  trees,  however,  by  far  the  most 
important,  and  the  one  we  saw  most  of,  is  the  mes- 
quit  (Prosopis  juliflora)  which  in  one  form  or  an- 
other is  found  from  Utah  to  Texas  and  from  the 
southern  California  deserts  to  Mexico.  It  is  in  an 
especial  sense  the  desert's  own  tree,  and  rooted 
sometimes  as  much  as  sixty  feet  below  ground,  it 
defies  drought  and  wind  as  no  other  tree  can.  As 
the  storms  pile  the  sand  around  its  short,  twisting 
trunks  and  wide-spread,  thorny  branches,  it  heaves 
itself  continually  like  the  indomitable  fighter  that  it 
is  above  the  smother  of  grit  and  gravel,  until  in  the 
case  of  old  individuals  there  is  vastly  more  tree  un- 
derground than  above.  These  sand  hummocks,  mes- 
quit-crowned — monies  as  they  are  sometimes 
called — are  among  the  characteristic  features  of  the 
Colorado  desert.  The  tree  is  deciduous,  and  when 
it  wakens  from  its  winter  of  inactivity,  the  new 
born,  feathery  foliage  spreads  a  sheet  of  tender 
flavescent  green  on  desert  plains  and  in  canon 
mouths,  and  the  wild  bee  knows  his  harvest  is  at 
hand.  Following  the  first  leaves,  myriads  of  cat- 


^e^-^^^fe; 


;  V0 


>      •~f'3f*^  tr    •' 

-7-        &&,??      •  t£       y 


Smoke  tree   (Dalea   Spinosa).     It  is  practically  leafless;   the 
tangle  of  gray  twigs  gives  an  appearance  of  clouds  of  smoke, 
at  a  distance.     Colorado  Desert  of  California 


IN  CALIFORNIA  77 

kins  of  yellow  bloom  swing  themselves,  in  golden 
tassels,  from  twigs  of  the  previous  year,  all  abuzz 
with  hordes  of  nectar  foragers.  In  July  the  trees 
are  hanging  heavy  with  the  slender  beans  which 
follow  the  flowers,  and  dropping  in  their  yellow  age, 
make  rich  feed  for  cattle  and  horses. 

The  mesquit,  indeed,  was  to  the  aborigines  of  the 
California  desert  something  of  what  the  date  palm 
has  always  been  to  the  Arab — a  kind  of  mother-tree 
yielding  of  her  beneficence  a  living  to  the  children 
of  the  desert — the  answer  of  God  to  their  prayer  for 
daily  bread.  The  beans,  five  or  six  inches  long  and 
growing  in  large  bunches,  are  full  of  nutrition,  and 
were  until  recently  a  mainstay  of  aboriginal  desert 
diet.  Before  the  Indians  got  to  buying  indifferent 
wheat  flour  of  the  white  traders,  they  used  for  ages 
to  harvest  these  sweet,  ripened  beans  that  were  the 
free  largesse  of  the  Lord,  store  them  in  their  bas- 
ket granaries,  and  grind  them  as.  needed  into  a  meal 
of  high  nutrition,  about  quarter  sugar.  Even  to- 
day, some  of  the  older  people  like  to  gather  the  ripe 
legumes,  remove  the  seeds,  and  mash  pulp  and  pod 
into  a  dulce,  which  they  mold  into  thick  round  cakes 
like  cheeses,  and  esteem  as  they  do  mescal.  Fur- 
thermore, the  mesquit  wood,  being  hard  as  oak,  sup- 
plied a  capital  fuel  and  the  most  substantial  of  tim- 
bers for  the  frame  work  of  wickiups  and  corrals. 


78         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

From  the  sap  a  permanent  black  dye  was  made; 
from  the  twigs  coarse  baskets  were  woven;  and  a 
certain  gum  that  exudes  from  the  wounded  trunk 
or  limbs  in  summer  was  pleasant  to  eat,  besides  be- 
ing useful  in  numerous  ways  as  mucilage.  As  medi- 
cine, dissolved  in  water,  the  gum  was  soothing  to 
sore  throats,  as  gum  arabic  is.  It  is  in  keeping  with 
the  best  traditions  of  American  wastefulness  that  we 
are  turning  this  wonderful  tree  into  firewood,  every 
year  hundreds  of  carloads  of  it  going  up  in  smoke 
in  our  fireplaces,  while  we  sit  and  grumble  about 
the  high  cost  of  living. 

As  we  discussed  an  eleven  o'clock  luncheon  in  the 
shade  of  one  of  these  mesquits,  the  Professor  broke 
off  a  twig,  and  launched  upon  another  lecturette. 

"There  is  an  idea  current  among  desert  folk  that 
the  shade  of  a  mesquit  is  the  coolest  shade  in  the 
world.  Perhaps  there  is  something  in  it.  You  see 
the  leaflets  are  hung  in  such  a  way  as  to  admit 
of  their  turning  with  the  least  air,  and  that  means 
that  shade  is  combined  with  a  maximum  of  circula- 
tion. I  wish  we  had  time  to-day  to  explore  that 
canon  yonder,  where  we  should  find  another  species 
of  mesquit,  which  they  call  the  screw-bean,  because 
its  pods  are  perfect  imitations  of  a  screw.  Once 
there  was  a  kindly  old  Spanish  Franciscan  friar 
named  Padre  Garces,  who  did  a  deal  of  traveling 


IN  CALIFORNIA  79 

about  these  deserts,  converting  Indians  while  our 
ancestors  back  East  were  fighting  in  the  Revolu- 
tionary War.  He  left  some  diaries,  which  are 
among  the  beginnings  of  California  literature.  I 
was  reading  in  them  not  long  ago,  and  the  entry  of 
one  March  day  in  1776  records  his  encountering  in 
an  arroyo  of  the  desert  to  the  north  of  where  we 
are,  some  trees  'that  grow  the  screw* — que  crian  el 
tornillo.  I  found  that  interesting  because  to  this 
day  the  Mexicans  call  the  screw-pod  mesquit,  tor- 
nillo or  tornilla." 

Though  it  was  now  high  noon  and  the  desert  was 
a  blaze  of  sunshine,  the  heat  was  tempered  by  a 
pleasant  breeze.  We  decided,  therefore,  to  forego 
a  siesta  and  start  on  at  once,  changing  our  course 
with  a  view  to  reach  a  little  oasis  of  salt  grass, 
arrow-weed  and  Washingtonia  or  California  fan- 
palms,  a  favorite  haunt  of  Eytel's,  ten  miles 
straight  north  across  the  desert.  There  he  was  de- 
sirous of  painting,  and  I  at  the  same  time  would  have 
a  chance  to  see  in  their  native  wild  some  groves  of 
these  beautiful  palms  which  are  now  thoroughly 
domesticated  up  and  down  California,  as  well  as  in 
Southern  Europe.  Before  setting  forth,  however, 
we  took  a  novel  drink  from  a  barrel  cactus— one  of  a 
queer  columnar  sort  of  which  there  were  several 
about  our  stopping  place,  ranging  in  size  from 


80         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

dumpy  babies  a  few  inches  high  to  fine  old  patriarchs 
close  to  five  feet.  They  were  bisnagas — Echinocac- 
tus  cylindraceus — the  famous  vegetable  water  bar- 
rels of  the  desert.  It  was  the  season  of  their  bloom- 
ing and  a  circlet  of  greenish  yellow  flowers  rested 
upon  the  head  of  each  like  a  chaplet.  Selecting  one 
about  half  the  height  of  himself,  Eytel  sliced  the  top 
off  horizontally  with  an  ax,  disclosing  a  solid  heart 
of  white,  hard,  moist  pulp,  resembling  unripe  water 
melon.  By  chopping  into  this  with  the  ax,  pum- 
meling  the  fragments  with  the  butt  of  the  helve,  to 
release  the  watery  content,  and  tossing  out  the  pulp 
as  it  was  pressed,  there  was  formed  in  a  few  minutes 
a  basin  containing  a  pint  or  so  of  a  cloudy  looking 
fluid.  We  dipped  into  it  with  our  cups,  and  found 
it  cool  and  refreshing,  slightly  acid  and  quite  de- 
void of  the  acridity  which  spoils  the  liquid  squeezed 
from  other  cactuses. 

Like  many  a  rough  character  among  men,  the  bis- 
naga  hides  beneath  a  bristling  exterior  a  kindly 
heart,  which  long  ago  the  Indians  discovered. 
From  them  the  early  white  travelers  on  the  desert 
learned  the  secret  of  the  hidden  reservoirs,  which 
have  saved  many  a  man  from  perishing  of  thirst, 
while  many  another,  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  these 
remarkable  wells  in  the  desert,  has  doubtless  died  in 
agony  within  sight  of  them.  The  desert  tribes  went 


IN  CALIFORNIA  81 

further  than  merely  drinking  from  them — they 
made  stew  kettles  of  them.  Scooping  out  most  of 
the  juicy  interior,  they  would  pour  back  a  needful 
amount  of  water,  heating  it  with  hot  rocks  in  the  an- 
cient aboriginal  fashion,  and  adding  the  food  to  be 
cooked.  Such  primitive  boilers  were  often  found 
in  old  times  about  Indian  camps  where  bisnagas 
grew.  The  value  of  the  various  species  of  cactus 
to  the  animal  life  of  the  desert  is  considerable.  In 
the  recesses  of  some  of  the  branching  sorts,  birds 
build  nests  and  rear  their  young  in  security  from 
marauding  snakes  which  are  baffled  by  the  encir- 
cling thorns ;  small  burrowing  mammals  of  one  sort 
and  another  have  learned  to  fortify  the  entrance  to 
their  subterranean  homes  with  spiny  opuntia  joints, 
effective  discouragers  to  Brother  Coyote's  ad- 
vances ;  and  it  is  said  that  wild  horses  on  the  desert, 
when  forage  and  water  run  low,  will  sometimes  kick 
the  fleshy  sorts  to  pieces  to  get  at  the  melon-like  in- 
terior which  is  meat  and  drink  to  them. 

Most  people  take  it  for  granted  that  a  tropical 
jungle  is  the  place  to  go  in  order  to  see  flowers  in 
abundance  and  in  the  fullest  richness  of  color,  while 
the  desert  is  not  associated  in  their  thoughts  with 
the  presence  of  flowers  at  all.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
bright  flowers  come  with  bright  sunshine,  and 
deserts  and  mountain  tops  above  the  timber,  are  the 


82         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

floral  meccas  of  the  knowing  ones.  The  high  hu- 
midity of  the  tropics  and  the  relatively  small  per- 
centage of  sunshine  due  to  the  prevalence  of  low- 
hanging  clouds  that  every  now  and  then  precipitate 
themselves  in  torrential  rains,  make  for  rank 
growth  of  foliage  rather  than  for  any  showy  display 
of  flowers.  Tropical  vegetation  runs  markedly  to 
leaf  and  branch,  and  the  blossoms,  while  often  of  in- 
dividual beauty  and  wonder,  are  more  or  less  lost 
in  a  riot  of  enveloping  green.  In  the  almost  con- 
tinuous sunshine  of  our  southeastern  deserts,  on  the 
contrary,  where  the  average  annual  rainfall  is  but 
four  or  five  inches,  the  florescence  is  abundant  and 
often  of  great  brilliancy  on  plants  with  relatively  in- 
conspicuous foliage,  or  even  none.  To  be  sure,  the 
extreme  aridity  causes  the  season  of  flowers  to  be 
very  short — a  few  weeks  of  activity  in  the  spring 
and  then  our  desert  plant  life  relapses  into  quiet 
dormancy  until  another  spring  comes  round;  but, 
as  the  Professor  cheerfully  puts  it,  * '  Though  it  is  a 
short  life,  it  is  a  merry  one." 

So,  as  our  course  carried  us  straight  out  into  the 
sun  baked  desert,  it  soon  became  evident  that  here, 
far  from  haunts  of  men,  God  had  planted  a  wonder- 
ful wild  garden.  Man,  in  his  arrogant  way,  assumes 
that  the  prophet's  vision  of  the  desert's  rejoicing 


IN  CALIFORNIA  83 

and  blooming  as  the  rose  had  to  do  with  artesian 
wells  and  alfalfa.  Perhaps  it  had ;  but  that  day,  as 
we  footed  it  through  acres  of  trailing  pink  abronias 
and  across  violet  sheets  of  dainty  gilias,  and  brushed 
past  a  score  of  different  shrubs — daleas,  kramerias, 
encelias — begemmed  with  exquisite  blossoms  in  blue 
and  crimson  and  yellow,  I  realized  that  there  was 
another  blooming  of  the  desert,  besides  that  of 
man's  nurturing,  and  quite  as  worthy  of  regard. 
The  conventional  talk  that  I  had  heard  about  the 
desert  flora  was  of  its  thorns  and  ill  smells  and  for- 
biddingness ;  but  here  was  pure  beauty. 

Not  always  are  the  desert  flowers,  like  the 
abronias  and  gilias,  massed  in  colonies ;  oftener  are 
they  distributed  at  more  or  less  wide  intervals,  for 
in  that  land  of  scanty  moisture,  crowding  would 
mean  death ;  and  it  is  only  after  the  eye  becomes  ac- 
custqmed  to  the  sparsely  clothed  waste  of  sand  and 
rock,  that  one  begins  to  catch  here  and  there  the 
glint  and  glow  of  color  that  marks  the  presence  of 
flowers.  The  gorgeous  petal-masses  of  the  cactus 
tribe,  in  pink  and  yellow  and  magenta  of  half  a 
dozen  shades,  will  sooner  or  later  catch  half  an  eye, 
as  will  the  brilliant  spurts  of  scarlet  that  spring  like 
flame  from  the  upper  part  of  the  whip-like,  almost 
leafless  stalks  of  the  ocotillo  or  candlewood  (Fou- 


84         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

quiera  splendens).2  Others,  however,  reveal  them- 
selves less  readily.  Sometimes  these  lie  like  gems 
flat  upon  the  earth,  to  be  seen  only  by  men  who  are 
given  to  lowly  looking.  Among  such,  none  is  more 
appealing,  I  think,  than  the  exquisite  desert  star 
(Eremiastrum  bellioides),  resembling  a  tiny  Eng- 
lish daisy  white-rayed  around  a  golden  center,  and 
blooming  in  little  circles  on  the  open  sands.  My  al- 
legiance, however,  sometimes  wavers  in  the  pres- 
ence of  another  dainty  groundling  with  disks  of 
quiet  yellow  snugly  set  in  the  midst  of  trim  little 
gray  leaves,  thick  like  bits  of  woolen  cloth.  Indeed 
it  is  not  hard  to  think  them  cut  out  of  that  material. 
Dr.  Gray,  doubtless,  served  science  well  enough 
when  he  gave  this  plant  the  name  Psafhyrotes  an- 
nua,  but  it  deserves  a  more  musical  one.  In  the 
same  modest  fellowship  are  purple-flowered  namas, 
and  coldenias  with  quaint  little  fans  of  leaves,  deep 
furrowed  and  olive  green;  yellow  suncups  with 
queer  twisting  seed-vessels  hiding  in  the  foliage  like 
tiny  coiling  green  snakes;  and  there  are  biscutellas 

2  This  remarkable  thorn,  because  of  the  readiness  with  which  cut- 
tings root,  is  often  planted  for  hedges  and  corral  fences.  The 
stem  is  rich  in  resin  and  a  peculiar  inflammable  wax.  Mexicans  cut 
it  into  splints,  which  may  be  lighted  like  candles,  and  burn  with  a 
pleasant  fragrance.  These  splints  are  called  ocotillas,  or  little  ocotes 
— ocote  being  the  Mexicans'  name  for  a  certain  pine  tree  whose 
wood  is  much  used  to  split  into  torch  material  in  Mexico  as  pine- 
knots  a  century  ago  were  used  by  our  forefathers. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  85 

less  noticeable  for  flowers  than  for  their  flat,  round 
pods  with  accentuated  rims,  growing  in  pairs,  sug- 
gesting goggles ;  and  there  are  lilliputian  eschscholt- 
zias  (E.  minutiflora) ,  in  general  appearance  quite 
like  their  robust  cousins  of  the  coast  but  in  size  di- 
vided by  ten.  Of  more  aspiring  proportions  and 
more  striking  aspect  are  phacelias  in  pink  and  blue ; 
the  fiery  trumpets  of  the  beloperone  blooming  on 
leafless  stalks ;  palaf oxias  in  bundles  of  dull  purple, 
and  golden  ox-eyed  encelias.  Lemon-yellow  mentze- 
lias  rising  from  wan,  white  stalks  and  jagged  leaf- 
age, bear  distant  company  with  baileyas,  pale  and 
ghostly,  the  latter  gowned  in  long,  cottony  white 
hairs,  and  the  flowers  a  washed-out  yellow  with 
lirnp  rays. 

As  we  plodded  along,  pebbles  in  our  mouths  to 
keep  down  the  thirst  and  Billy  nipping  sidewise  at 
occasional  bunches  of  galleta  grass,  the  ruddy- 
stemmed  chaenactis  in  white  and  in  yellow  nodded 
saucily  at  our  little  caravan  and  sunny  faces  of 
malacothrix  looked  shyly  up  to  ours,  while  bush- 
daleas,  their  spiny  limbs  covered  right  royally  with 
pea-blossoms  of  intensest  blue,  plucked  us  now  and 
again  by  the  sleeve.  With  the  waning  afternoon, 
there  opened  here  and  there  at  our  feet,  in  pallid 
loveliness,  the  blossoms  of  an  evening  primrose 
(Oenothera  trichocalyx)  two  inches  across,  pure 


86         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

white  with  a  glow  of  yellow  at  the  heart,  and  faintly 
fragrant.  Side  by  side  with  them  amid  the  gray 
leafage  of  the  plant,  were  the  spent  flowers  of  yes- 
terday, drooping  dejected  upon  their  stalks,  com- 
panioning the  alert  buds  flushed  with  pink,  of  to- 
morrow's blooming — an  epitome  of  life,  affording, 
like  life  anywhere,  texts  for  pessimist  and  optimist 
according  to  the  point  of  view. 

So  with  the  lengthening  shadows,  we  came  at  last 
to  Seven  Palms,  and  Eytel,  slipping  the  pack  from 
our  Eosinante,  staked  him  in  the  midst  of  a  patch 
of  salt  grass,  while  the  Professor  and  I  started  a 
fire  for  the  brewing  of  a  cannikin  of  tea,  hard  by  an 
ancient  palm.  While  in  point  of  varied  usefulness 
the  California  fan-palm  must  yield  to  the  mesquit, 
it  is  sui  generis  for  stately  beauty  in  the  desert 
sylva — one  of  the  noblest  of  our  native  trees.  To 
one  accustomed  to  seeing  it  only  in  straight  rows 
along  city  avenues  and  private  roadways,  the  trunks 
trimly  shorn  of  all  leafage  well  up  to  the  growing 
crown,  the  first  sight  of  it  in  Nature's  setting  is  re- 
freshing— in  unstudied  groups  of  few  or  several,  or 
in  sinuous  procession  following  the  winding  course 
of  some  rivulet,  into  whose  moist  margin,  crummy 
with  alkali,  the  trees  love  to  sink  their  toes. 
Around  their  huge  bases  are  gathered  sedges  and 
rushes,  arrow-weed  and  salt-grass ;  now  and  then 


IN  CALIFORNIA  87 

mesquits  and  alders  bear  them  company;  and  in 
such  tangles,  too — a  rare  surprise — I  have  found  the 
lovely  orchid,  Epipactis  gigantea,  thrusting  up  to 
the  light  its  plaited  leaves  from  which  spring  flowery 
racemes  in  green  and  purple.  The  ground  immedi- 
ate beneath  the  palm  is  usually  slippery  with  a  lit- 
ter of  fallen  flower  stalks  shed  after  the  fruit  has 
ripened  and  dropped.  The  old  leaves,  when  brown, 
drop  backward  and  hang  head  downward  against 
the  trunk,  forming  upon  old  trees — except  when 
fire  has  been  at  work — a  dense  thatch,  protecting 
the  bole  from  the  onslaught  of  wind  and  weather. 
After  a  long  Jornada  through  sun  and  sand,  such  as 
we  had  made  to  Seven  Palms,  it  is  rare  enjoyment 
to  lie  on  one's  back  beneath  these  glorious  trees  and 
look  up,  up,  up  their  eighty  or  a  hundred-foot  trunks 
into  the  depths  of  the  glistening  crowns,  through 
which  the  desert  winds  go  blowing  with  the  music 
of  rushing  water.  The  sunlight  is  caught  and 
flashed  from  a  hundred  insect  wings;  birds  come 
and  go  intent  on  various  ornithological  errands, 
singing  as  they  fly ;  and  far  away,  twenty  miles  per- 
haps, one  sees  as  though  afloat  in  the  upper  air  the 
snow  fields  lying  cool  on  San  Gorgonio's  crest. 

In  its  wild  estate,  this  palm  is  found  only  on  the 
western  borders  of  the  Colorado  Desert,  usually 
in  companies  in  or  near  the  mouths  of  certain  foot- 


88        WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

hill  canons,  which  debouch  at  intervals  upon  the 
plain  from  Palm  Springs  to  the  lower  end  of  the 
Salton  Sink.  Occasionally,  as  at  Seven  Palms,  a 
grove  is  found  venturing  a  few  miles  out  in  the 
desert,  where  some  alkaline  cienaga  provides  the 
needful  moisture.  Mr.  S.  B.  Parish 3  is  of  opinion 
that  the  distribution  of  the  California  species  of 
Washingtonia  has  been  determined  by  the  bound- 
aries of  the  great  lake  which  at  no  very  distant  time, 
geologically  speaking,  occupied  the  central  depres- 
sion of  the  Colorado  Desert ;  and  that  we  may  reason- 
ably suppose  the  shore  of  the  ancient  lagoon  to  have 
been  graced  with  groves  of  these  stately  palms.  It 
is  a  pleasant  picture,  and  it  may  refresh  the  weary 
tourist  to-day  to  conjure  it  up,  as  his  train  carries 
him  across  the  heated  sands  over  which  primeval 
waters  once  rippled. 

3  "A  Contribution  toward  a  Knowledge  of  the  Genus  Washing- 
tonia." Botanical  Gazette,  December,  1907.  In  this  paper  Mr.  Par- 
ish has  straightened  out  the  confused  terminology  of  the  genus,  and 
ascribes  to  the  California  tree  the  name  Washingtonia  filifera  ro- 
busta. 


SPRING  ON  THE  MESA 

WHEN  does  spring  come  in  California?  It  is 
not  to  be  answered  in  a  word.  California, 
like  Mexico,  includes  several  zones  on  end.  From 
the  alpine  heights  of  Whitney  or  Shasta,  two  and 
three-quarter  miles  up  in  the  air,  where  snow  lies 
all  the  year,  to  certain  semi-tropic  nooks  in  the 
Coast  country  where  with  watchfulness  the  papaya 
and  the  avocado  will  ripen  in  the  open,  includes 
pretty  much  the  whole  range  of  climate  from  the 
Frigid  Zone  to  the  Torrid.  Obviously  spring  can- 
not come  to  all  on  the  same  day  in  the  calendar. 
But  even  in  the  relatively  equable  valleys  and  mesa 
lands  of  the  central  and  southern  parts  of  the  State 
where  snow  never  falls,  there  are  two  ways  of  look- 
ing at  the  matter.  In  one  sense,  the  California 
spring  may  be  said  to  begin  with  the  ending  of  the 
dry  season  and  the  coming  of  the  rains  in  October  or 
November;  to  suffer  a  temporary  check  with  the 
lower  temperatures  of  what  the  rest  of  the  United 
States  calls  winter-time;  and  with  the  strengthen- 


90        WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

ing  suns  of  late  January,  to  start  on  again  to  its 
crowning  in  April.  That,  however,  is  too  revolu- 
tionary a  way  of  putting  it  for  most  people,  whose 
conventions  require  a  bit  of  winter  in  their  year, 
and  for  them  spring  waits  for  the  pushing  up  of 
the  daffodil  leaves  through  the  garden's  tender 
mold.  This  cheerful  happening  may  be  as  early 
as  mid- January,  or  rarely  as  late  as  March ;  usually 
it  occurs  in  early  February.  The  principal  deter- 
mining factor  is  the  rainfall.  If  this  sets  in  lib- 
erally about  November,  as  it  may  be  counted  upon 
to  do  in  seven  seasons  out  of  ten,  and  is  repeated  at 
intervals  of  two  or  three  weeks  during  December 
and  January,  the  wild  flower  hunter  will  be  war- 
ranted on  any  February  morning,  in  taking  his  vas- 
culum  and  a  bite  of  luncheon,  and  making  for  the 
foothills. 

The  First  Wild  Flowers 

California  geography  is  replete  with  Spanish 
terms  descriptive  of  various  features  of  the  land- 
scape. One  of  these  is  mesa,  which  means  literally 
a  table,  and  is  applied  to  the  sloping  or  at  times 
level  benches  of  land  that  extend  outward  from  the 
bases  of  the  hills,  and  finally  break  off  more  or  less 
abruptly  into  the  valleys.  On  such  mesas  lying  to 
the  sun,  and  in  the  traversing  washes  and  canons 


__     f[^  

Ja       ^ 

^--••—-x  _         >w  C>.  .^ 


IN  CALIFORNIA  91 

bearing  from  the  mountains  the  singing  waters  of 
many  brooks  to  irrigate  the  plain,  I  like  to  go  for 
my  first  wild  flowers.  I  have  never  yet  been  able 
to  make  up  my  mind  as  to  which  of  all  the  lovely 
multitude  is  really  first.  Perhaps  the  truth  is,  there 
is  no  first.  Doubtless  it  is  with  flowers  as  with 
men,  the  laurel  of  the  champion  is  sooner  or  later 
snatched  away  by  some  succeeding  competitor,  who 
in  his  turn  loses  to  another.  So  one  year  it  may  be 
the  California  peony,  whose  black-crimson  globes 
filled  with  golden  anthers,  I  have  found  nodding  on 
their  leafy  stalks  in  January;  another  year,  the 
white  dentaria,  California  cousin  of  the  pepper  root 
of  Eastern  woods  and  exquisite  as  the  garden  snow- 
drop whose  modest  grace  it  simulates,  may  lead  the 
procession ;  or  again  it  may  be  the  fuchsia-flowered 
gooseberry  whose  bending  branches  virgin-leaved 
and  fringed  with  a  hundred  scarlet  pendants  of 
bloom,  have  swept  my  face  in  many  a  trail,  when 
the  year  has  been  but  a  few  weeks  old.  A  rosy  little 
portulaca  (Calandrlnia  Menziesii),  is  another  very 
early  comer  that  twinkles  brightly  in  the  midst  of 
wild  grasses,  and  sometimes  assembles  a  mass  meet- 
ing of  its  own  kind  so  successfully  as  to  make  a 
blush  upon  the  mesa's  cheek,  visible  from  quite  a 
distance. 
Among  the  first  arrivals,  too,  I  count  upon  find- 


92         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

ing  that  favorite  of  California  childhood,  the  dodo- 
catheon,  though  no  child  is  pedantic  enough  to  call 
it  so,  preferring  more  sensible  names,  such  as  shoot- 
ing star,  wild  cyclamen,  mosquito  bill  or  mad 
violet — this  last,  perhaps  because  the  petals  are 
strongly  bent  backward,  like  the  ears  of  an  animal 
that  is  vexed.  There  are  at  least  two  species  in 
California,  if  not  more.  As  I  find  the  plant  on  my 
southern  hunting  grounds  the  petals  are  lilac  flushed 
with  pink  narrowing  to  a  ring  of  yellow  about  the 
plum  purple  column  of  stamens  and  pistil ;  while  in 
Central  and  Northern  California  the  flowers  are 
much  larger  and  distinctly  magenta.  Mr.  V.  K. 
Chesnut,  in  a  valuable  monograph  entitled  "  Plants 
Used  by  the  Indians  of  Mendocino  County,  Cali- 
fornia," states  that  the  roots  and  leaves  of  this 
pretty  wilding  used  to  be  roasted  in  the  ashes  and 
eaten  by  the  Indians,  and  that  the  squaws  adorned 
themselves  with  the  blossoms  at  dances.  It  is 
a  friendly  little  plant,  and  one  may  meet  it  through- 
out the  length  and  breadth  and  height  of  the  State 
dotting  sunny  swards  from  the  sea's  edge  to  the 
glacial  meadows  of  the  High  Sierra.  Forms  of  it 
too,  are  found  as  far  up  the  coast  as  Bering  Strait, 
and  eastward  and  southward  across  the  continent 
to  the  Atlantic;  and  even  beyond  that,  for  it  has 
been  carried  to  a  home  in  European  gardens. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  93 

Herrick,  than  whom  none  of  the  poets  had  a 
prettier  fancy  in  flowers,  calls  violets  ''maids  of 
honor  to  the  spring,"  and  you  may  be  sure  Flora 
did  not  forget  California  in  her  apportionment  of 
these  vernal  handmaidens.  Species  white  and  spe- 
cies blue,  species  yellow  and  species  of  all  these 
colors  and  a  dash  of  brown  thrown  in — all  these  are 
to  be  gathered  in  one  situation\or  another,  but  yel- 
low is  the  color  that  predominates;  and  blue  vio- 
lets, so  common  in  Eastern  woods  and  fields  are  but 
infrequently  seen  in  California.  To  a  far  greater 
extent,  too,  than  in  the  East,  the  petals  of  the  vari- 
ous species  are  of  varied  hues,  pansy-like.  Of  this 
character  is  the  commonest  species  of  the  south,  the 
yellow  Viola  pedunculata  or  wild  pansy,  whose  two 
upper  petals  are  conspicuously  painted  a  warm 
brown  on  the  back.  It  comes  with  the  shooting 
stars  in  February,  an  incarnation  of  jaunty  bright- 
ness, and  Lowell,  had  he  seen  it,  might  have  found 
it  as  worthy  the  golden  riot  of  his  fancy  as  that  yel- 
low flower  he  did  immortalize — the  buccaneering 
dandelion  of  our  lawns. 

In  the  same  choice  company  will  be  found  the 
first  brodiaeas  of  the  year — little  compact  heads  of 
lilac  topping  slender  stems,  with  a  grass-like  leaf  or 
two.  They  are  among  the  best  known  and  best  be- 
loved of  wilding  blooms  in  California ;  and  the  spe- 


94         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

cies  known  to  botanists  as  Brodiaea  capitata,  com- 
mon throughout  the  State,  forms  an  important  part 
of  the  stock  of  itinerant  wild  flower  venders  at  tour- 
ist resorts.  Country  children  have  a  way  of  call- 
ing it  wild  onion,  which  is  more  accurate  than  some 
common  names,  for  its  bulbous  root  is  edible  and 
the  plant  is  really  related  to  the  garden  onion.  A 
more  poetic  appellation,  which  may  be  preferred  by 
people  who  stumble  at  the  rather  difficult  word 
brodiaea  (given,  by  the  way,  in  memory  of  one  James 
L.  Brodie  a  Scotch  botanist  of  long  ago),  is  the 
term  by  which  the  species  is  known  in  cultivation — 
California  hyacinth.  Brodiaeas  are  indigenous  only 
to  our  Pacific  Coast  and  are  of  many  rather  diverse 
kindsr  The  flowers  of  one  species  (Brodiaa  coc- 
cinea),  native  to  Northern  California,  are  scarlet. 
In  size  and  shape  they  resemble  Chinese  fire-crack- 
ers, which  they  further  suggest  by  the  limp  way 
the  clustered  blooms  droop  from  the  top  of  the 
stem.  This  fire-cracker  flower,  as  it  is  popularly 
called,  is  one  of  the  most  curious  in  the  wild  flora 
of  California,  and  has  been  the  means  of  enlivening 
the  dry  annals  of  science  with  a  bit  of  sentiment, 
which  Thomas  Meehan  has  preserved  in  "The  Na- 
tive Flowers  and  Ferns  of  the  United  States."  It 
seems  the  first  botanist  to  notice  the  plant  was  Al- 
phonso  Wood,  to  whom  it  was  pointed  out  in  1867 


IN  CALIFORNIA  95 

by  a  stage  driver  in  the  Trinity  Mountains.  The 
flowers  had  long  interested  this  unbotanical  moun- 
taineer, and  he  had  gratified  the  sentiment  of  his 
heart  by  naming  it  Ida  May,  after  his  little  daugh- 
ter, with  whom  it  was  a  favorite.  Wood  realized 
that  the  plant  was  new  to  science,  and  believing  it 
also  a  new  genus,  described  it  under  the  name 
Brevoortia  Ida-maid,  the  specific  terminology  com- 
memorating not  only  the  parental  affection  of  the 
stage  driver  but  also  the  fact  that  the  plant  had 
been  collected  on  the  "ides  (15th)  of  May!"  Un- 
fortunately, Wood's  naming  was  overruled  by  his 
confreres  in  science,  who  subsequently  transferred 
the  flower  to  the  genus  Brodiaea,  and  while  about  it, 
cleared  the  record  of  all  touch  of  sentiment  by  sub- 
stituting for  Ida-maia  the  prosy  coccinea. 

In  a  dry  wash  of  my  southern  mesa  I  am  like  to 
find  early  in  February,  the  first  starry  blooms  of 
the  little  fringed  gilia  (G.  dianthoides) ,  bespang- 
ling the  gravelly  ground.  The  dainty  satiny  corol- 
las with  their  yellow  eyes  are  of  so  rare  a  loveliness 
that  it  would  be  a  hard  heart  indeed  that  could  re- 
sist the  appeal  of  their  quiet  beauty.  This  blossom 
has  always  seemed  to  me  to  play  on  the  Pacific  Coast 
the  part  in  Flora's  spring  pageant,  which  on  the 
Atlantic  side  of  the  continent,  is  taken  by  that  mod- 
est Houstonia  which  is  called  innocence  by  some  and 


96         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

Quaker  lady  by  others.  The  fringed  gilia  is  the 
forerunner  of  a  whole  procession  of  gilias  which 
are  to  be  found  throughout  California,  fifty  species 
or  so,1  not  one  of  which  is  indigenous  to  the  Atlan- 
tic seaboard.  There  their  nearest  relatives  are  the 
phloxes  and  polemoniums.  In  pink  and  lilac,  white 
and  blue,  purple  and  golden  yellow,  the  gilias  are  a 
glorious  fellowship,  arraying  desert  and  plain  and 
mountain  side  in  acres  of  solid  color — a  free  gift 
of  cheerful  beauty.  One  species  (Gilia  Calif  or- 
nica)  is  universally  known  in  Southern  California, 
where  it  is  common,  as  prickly  phlox,  and  its  bristly 
stems  of  fresh  green  are  conspicuous  in  early  spring 
amid  other  greenery  of  the  mesa,  but  the  rosy  phlox- 
like  blossoms  are  not  seen  until  towards  the  end 
of  the  rainy  season.  The  ferny  foliage  of  the 
phacelias,  or  wild  heliotropes,  adds  to  the  verdure 
of  the  same  slopes  in  early  spring,  but  their  blue 
flowers,  set  in  coils  like  the  heliotrope's,  are  rarely 
seen  before  March.  This  plant  offers  one  of  the  in- 
stances of  a  common  name  due  to  a  superficial  re- 
semblance which  fooled  even  the  botanists  at  one 
time;  for  although  the  genus  Phacelia  is  not  even 
in  the  same  family  with  the  heliotropes,  the  learned 

1  Some  botanists  are  disposed  to  break  the  genus  Gilia  into  a 
number — Linanthus,  Navarretia,  Leptosiphon,  etc.,  but  the  distinc- 
tions are  not  such  as  all  the  doctors  can  agree  about.  The  word 
Gilia  is  commemorative  of  a  Spanish  botanist  named  Gil. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  97 

scientist  who  undertook  to  describe  the  first  col- 
lected specimen,  took  it  unquestionably  for  a  Helio- 
tr opium,  and  so  named  it. 

In  these  early  days  of  Spring's  progress  she  drops 
as  she  goes,  a  cloth  of  gold  woven  here  of  suncups 
and  there  of  Baeria,  each  with  flowers  the  size  of  a 
dime,  that  always  nestle  close  to  earth,  but  by  rea- 
son of  their  abundance  make  a  brave  showing  in 
spite  of  their  individual  tininess.  The  former  is  a 
diurnal  species  of  Oenothera,  a  genus  to  which  the 
evening  primroses  belong;  Baeria  is  a  pretty, 
orange-yellow  composite  of  so  delicate  a  perfume 
that  Titania,  if  ever  she  visits  these  Hesperian 
shores,  must  have  her  fairies  bottle  it  for  her 
handkerchiefs,  I  think.  It  is  one  of  the  most  allur- 
ing of  all  the  California  floral  sisterhood,  and  flows 
and  trickles  like  a  golden  stream  sometimes  for 
miles,  gathering  now  and  again  into  pools  and  lakes 
of  sunny  color,  on  foothill  slopes  and  in  the  valleys, 
from  Oregon  to  Lower  California.  And  now,  too, 
we  shall  have  our  first  glimpses  of  the  lilac  cups  of 
the  mariposa  tulips,  resting  like  butterflies  upon 
some  rippling  lake  of  wild  grasses  across  which  the 
breeze  sweeps.  So  grasslike  are  the  mariposa 's 
leaves,  that  they  are  all  but  indistinguishable  in 
such  situations  and  it  is  easy  to  imagine  the  beau- 
tiful blossoms  borne  by  the  grasses  themselves. 


98         WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

These  flowers  are  among  the  most  famous  of  Cali- 
fornia wildings,  both  at  home  and  abroad  where 
they  have  long  been  grown  in  gardens.  There  are 
some  forty  species  of  them  indigenous  to  the  United 
States,  nearly  all  of  which  are  confined  to  the 
Pacific  Coast.  The  flowers  of  all  are  remarkable 
for  their  beauty,  and  are  of  a  great  range  of  color, 
white,  yellow,  lilac  and  half  a  dozen  shades  of  pur- 
ple, often  strikingly  marked  with  lines  and  dots  and 
eye-like  spots  in  a  manner  suggesting  the  gay  wings 
of  a  butterfly.  It  was  the  latter  peculiarity  which 
won  the  flower  the  name  of  mariposa,  meaning  but- 
terfly, by  which  the  Spanish-Calif ornians  call  it. 
In  botanical  parlance  the  genus  is  Calochortus. 
The  most  usual  popular  name  would  seem  to  be 
mariposa  lily,  which  is  proper  enough,  as  the  plant 
is  of  the  Lily  family ;  but  its  nearest  relation  in  that 
large  tribe  is  really  not  the  lily  but  the  tulip,  to 
which  the  resemblance  of  the  flowers  in  most  species 
is  apparent  even  superficially. 

In  plant  nomenclature  the  Spanish-speaking  Cali- 
fornians  are  quite  as  happy  as  in  the  geographical 
namings,  as  is  instanced  in  the  case  of  another 
abundant  spring-bloomer  on  our  foothill  slopes — 
Orthocarpus  purpurascens.  Whole  acres  are  some- 
times given  a  noticeable  magenta  tinge  by  the 
crowded  brush  like  heads  of  the  plant,  which  owes 


IN  CALIFORNIA  99 

its  color  not  only  to  the  flowers  but  to  the  rosy- 
tipped  bracts  that  enclose  them.  Because  of  the 
bunching  of  the  blossoms  in  long  bushy  spikes,  not 
unlike  small  whisks,  the  Spanish  inhabitants  have 
given  them  the  name  of  escobitas,  or  little  brooms. 
To  Americans  they  are  more  often  known  as  owl's 
clover — a  much  less  obvious  name,  which  I  am  quite 
at  a  loss  to  account  for.  Possibly  to  the  vision  of 
the  burrowing  owls  which  frequent  its  haunts,  the 
showy  heads  of  bloom  may  pass  for  red-clover  tops, 
but  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  plant  is  not  at  all  akin 
to  the  clover.  It  is  a  near  cousin  to  the  castilleias, 
or  Indian  paint-brushes,  whose  spikes  of  scarlet- 
bracted  flowers  flame  vividly  in  the  cienagas  and 
thickets,  and  on  the  sun-scorched  slopes  of  the  later 
year. 

One  spring  noon  on  the  mesa,  as  the  Professor 
and  I  discussed  a  brace  of  sandwiches  by  a  tinkling 
rill,  fringed  with  watercresses,  he  relieved  himself 
of  a  jeremiad. 

"A  humiliating  fact  in  connection  with  our  Cali- 
fornia wild  flowers,"  he  remarked,  struggling  with 
a  bit  of  gristle  in  the  meat,  "is  the  average  Cali- 
fornian's  own  indifference  to  them.  Not  only  does 
he  not  know  their  names,  he  does  not  even  see  them, 
as  he  slashes  right  and  left  in  his  haste  to  subdi- 
vide the  State  into  building  lots  and  orange  ranches. 


100       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

Why,  man,  the  gardens  of  Europe  are  full  of  Cali- 
fornia wild  flowers,  and  have  been  for  three  genera- 
tions— raised  from  seeds  carried  there  by  English 
collectors — such  flowers  as  clarkias,  collinsias,  lu- 
pines, gilias,  eschscholtzias,  godetias,  phacelias, 
mariposa  tulips,  penstemons,  and  a  score  more. 
Now  here—'' 

He  plucked  from  the  grass  a  little  cup  of  blue  as 
tender  as  the  hue  of  the  sky  above  us,  and  con- 
tinued : 

"Now  this  baby-blue-eyes,  as  we  call  it — nemo- 
phila — only  the  other  day  I  was  looking  over  an 
English  garden  book  and  found  a  note  of  this  little 
beauty  which  is  as  well  known  there  as  pansies  are 
with  us,  and  the  writer,  a  practical  gardener,  not  a 
sentimentalist,  spoke  of  it  as  the  most  precious  of 
annuals.  That's  in  England,  mind  you,  whose  gar- 
dens hold  the  pick  of  the  whole  world ;  and  yet  year 
by  year  our  real  estate  men  are  running  gutters  and 
laying  down  concrete  walks  on  the  graves  of  my- 
riads of  these  and  sister  creations  of  the  most  ex- 
quisite loveliness.  Of  course  I  know  that  this  is 
largely  the  fate  of  native  growths  everywhere  be- 
fore the  advance  of  what  we  are  pleased  to  call 
civilization;  and  I'll  be  frank  enough  to  say  I'm  not 
altogether  for  locusts  and  wild  honey — I  like  my 
cakes  and  ale  too;  but  what  I  do  say  is  that  much 


IN  CALIFORNIA  101 

might  perfectly  well  be  conserved  that  is  now  being 
ruthlessly  despoiled,  if  the  despoilers'  eyes  could 
only  be  opened  to  the  beauty  in  their  path. ' ' 

As  we  took  the  homeward  trail,  later  in  the  day, 
the  Professor  started  up  again  on  gardening. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  remarked,  ''that  before  Cali- 
fornia was  discovered  as  a  floral  paradise,  gardens 
were  almost  deficient  in  one  of  their  present-day 
strong  points — that  is,  the  annuals?  The  garden 
of  a  century  ago  was  strong  in  perennial  plants,  but 
it  pretty  much  stopped  at  that.  The  value  of  an- 
nuals in  horticultural  effect  was  first  realized  when 
the  Eoyal  Horticultural  Society  of  London  sowed 
the  seeds  of  the  scores  of  beautiful  annuals  which 
their  collector,  David  Douglas,  back  in  the  1830 's, 
brought  them  from  California.2  Of  course  I  don't 
mean  that  all  garden  annuals  now  are  California 
species,  though  many  of  them  are,  but  those  collec- 
tions of  Douglas's  revolutionized  garden  arrange- 
ment, and  had  the  effect  of  drawing  attention  to  a 
whole  world  of  beauty,  until  then  practically  neg- 
lected in  gardens.  Douglas  was  followed  in  Cali- 
fornia by  other  collectors  for  European  plant 
dealers,  and  now  if  you  pay  a  visit  to  foreign  gar- 

2  Any  reader  inclined  to  doubt  the  Professor's  statements,  is  re- 
ferred to  Thomas  Median's  "The  Native  Flowers  and  Ferns  of  the 
United  States,"  Series  II,  Volume  II,  p.  101. 


102       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

dens  you  will  find  many  and  many  a  flower  to  re- 
mind you  of  your  beloved  mesas  and  canons.  And 
I  am  in  hopes  that  even  Californians  will,  before  it 
is  too  late,  wake  up  to  this  wild-floral  treasure  of 
their  land.  For  really,  Californians  are  flower 
lovers  to  a  fine  degree ;  they  all  like  their  bit  of  gar- 
den, and  take  a  pride  in  keeping  it  going  winter  and 
summer.  The  trouble  is  they  pack  it  full  of 
geraniums  and  roses  and  other  back-East  flowers, 
without  realizing  the  wealth  of  pretty  things  on 
the  hills  about  them,  asking  to  be  invited  in.  How- 
ever, some  of  the  flower  dealers  in  California  are 
waking  up  to  this  fact,  and  maybe  the  day  is  dawn- 
ing when  every  California  garden  will  have  at  least 
a  California  corner." 

The  California  Poppy  and  Its  Cousins 

There  is  one  California  wild  flower  that  every 
Calif  ornian,  however  unobserving,  knows  and 
loves,  as  the  Briton  his  daisy  or  the  Irishman  his 
shamrock,  and  that  is  the  native  poppy  or  esch- 
scholtzia.  Poets  apostrophize  it;  artists  paint  it 
and  craftsmen  work  it  into  their  handiwork;  it  is 
sown  in  gardens  and  tradesmen  employ  it  as  a  mark 
for  their  brands  of  merchandise.  Every  spring 
millions  of  its  blossoms  are  brought  indoors  and 
set  in  vases  and  bowls,  where  it  illumines  the  rooms 


IN  CALIFORNIA  103 

of  half  of  California  with  the  glow  of  its  impris- 
oned sunshine.  To  a  degree  that  can  be  said  of 
no  other  State  device,  it  is  the  floral  emblem  of  the 
Commonwealth — not  a  token  voted  by  a  little  knot 
of  flower  enthusiasts,  but  the  spontaneous  choice 
of  a  whole  people,  who  love  it  and  admit  it  into 
their  daily  life.  The  eschscholtzia  blooms  inter- 
mittently throughout  the  year,  if  the  conditions  suit 
it,  but  it  is  during  the  months  of  spring  that  this 
queen  of  California  flowers  holds  her  especial  court. 
Acres  upon  acres,  at  that  season,  by  the  sea's  edge, 
in  the  inland  valleys,  and  far  up  on  unforested 
mountain  sides,  it  spreads  solid  sheets  of  vivid 
orange  and  yellow,  visible  for  miles — color  so  in- 
tense as  to  be  actually  painful  to  some  eyes,  and 
men,  women  and  children  flock  to  the  fields  poppy- 
hunting  with  almost  the  unanimity  of  the  Japanese 
at  their  cherry  festival.  Yet  it  is  not  nowadays  to 
be  found  just  anywhere;  one  may  travel  an  entire 
spring  day  and  see  never  a  poppy;  in  a  sense,  it  is 
an  elusive  flower  and  the  fact  of  a  colony  of  it  being 
in  a  certain  place  this  year  is  no  guarantee  that  we 
shall  find  it  there  next  spring.  At  the  base  of  the 
San  Gabriel  Sierra  north  of  Pasadena  is  an  ele- 
vated mesa  tilted  to  the  south,  thrusting  its  tongue 
into  a  canon's  mouth.  It  was  known  in  Spanish 
days  by  the  name  of  La  Mesa  de  las  Flores  (the 


104       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

Table  of  the  Flowers),  because  of  the  exuberant 
growth  of  poppies  which  covered  it  like  a  golden 
table  cloth,  its  folds  dropping  down  into  the  valley. 
Thence  to  the  ocean  is  twenty-five  miles  in  a  bee- 
line,  and  the  story  goes  that  that  flowery  flame  could 
be  seen  plainly  in  clear  weather  from  vessels  at  sea 
beating  their  way  along  the  coast,  and  the  captains 
would  set  their  course  by  it.  I  have  never  been 
able  to  satisfy  myself  as  to  the  truth  of  this  pictur- 
esque tradition — there  is  no  such  great  show  of 
poppies  there  now;  but  perhaps  no  one  who  has 
once  blinked  his  eyes  in  the  glowing  poppy  fields  of 
a  California  spring  will  be  rash  enough  to  deny 
the  possibility  of  its  correctness.  It  must  more- 
over be  remembered  that  the  ancient  demesne  of  the 
wild  flowers  was  of  far  greater  extent  than  the  land 
which  is  theirs  to-day.  Year  by  year  more  and 
more  of  these  Hesperian  gardens  of  the  wild  are 
being  broken  up  by  the  encroaching  settlements  of 
men;  and  only  the  other  day  I  saw  a  plowman, 
knee  deep  in  eschscholtzias,  driving  his  furrows 
straight  through  five  acres  of  them  and  quenching 
their  sheeted  fire  with  the  upturned  earth. 

In  view  of  the  influence  of  this  flower  upon  the 
landscape  it  seems  remarkable  that  no  notice  of  its 
existence  occurs  in  the  writings  of  the  first  ex- 
plorers. As  a  matter  of  fact,  not  till  nearly  half  a 


IN  CALIFORNIA  105 

century  after  the  settlement  of  California  does  it 
seem  to  have  attracted  the  attention  of  either  trav- 
eler or  botanist.  Then,  one  October  day  of  1816, 
came  the  ship  Rurik  into  San  Francisco  Bay,  bring- 
ing a  Eussian  scientific  expedition,  Otto  von  Kotze- 
bue,  in  command.  The  naturalist  of  the  party  was 
Adalbert  von  Chamisso,  a  French  noble  by  birth,  a 
Prussian  soldier  by  education,  a  botanist  by  choice 
and  a  poet  by  inspiration.  A  few  years  before, 
during  the  Napoleonic  wars,  he  had  written  a  ro- 
mantic version  of  an  old  German  legend  concern- 
ing a  man  who  sold  his  shadow,  "  Peter  Schlemihl's 
Wonderful  History,"  which  the  world  has  not  yet 
forgotten;  but  in  1816,  this  remarkable  genius  was 
more  interested  in  botanizing  than  in  any  other  pur- 
suit, and  during  the  Rurik' 's  stay  of  about  a  month, 
von  Chamisso  in  company  with  the  other  naturalist 
of  the  expedition,  Doctor  Johann  Friedrich  Esch- 
scholz,  diligently  searched  the  country  around  for 
such  specimens  of  plant  life  as  the  season  afforded. 
"The  year  was  already  old,"  he  writes  in  his 
Journal,  "and  the  country  which  as  Langsdorff 3  had 

3  G«org  Heinrich  von  Langsdorff,  with  a  previous  Russian  expe- 
dition, Count  Rezanoff's.  He  spent  six  weeks  in  April  and  May  of 
1806,  in  the  vicinity  of  San  Francisco  Bay,  making  collections,  but 
his  actual  contributions  to  botanical  knowledge  appear  to  have  been 
small.  He  could  hardly  have  failed  to  see  the  poppy  in  its  glory  at 
that  season,  and  doubtless  it  formed  part  of  the  "flower  garden," 
as  it  carpets  the  spring  hillsides  of  the  Bay  region  to-day. 


106       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

seen  it,  seemed  a  flower  garden,  offered  now  to  the 
botanist  only  a  dry,  withered  field  (ein  durres,  aus- 
gestorbenes  Feld).  .  .  .  We,  however,  collected  the 
seeds  of  many  plants  and  expect  to  enrich  our  gar- 
dens thereby."  Among  these  was  our  poppy  which 
these  botanists  found  growing  in  dry  sand  where 
San  Francisco  now  stands. 

On  negative  evidence,  therefore,  it  would  appear 
that  even  upon  its  discoverer  the  golden  flower 
made  no  particular  impression  in  the  field;  and 
doubtless  at  the  late  season  when  the  collection  was 
made,  only  scattering  specimens  were  in  bloom. 
His  description  of  the  plant  was  not  published  until 
four  years  later,  in  1820  at  Madrid,  in  the  Spaniard 
Luis  Nee's  "Horae  Physicae";  and  the  name 
Eschscholtzia*  Calif ornica  was  given  by  Chamisso, 
first,  in  honor  of  his  companion  in  labor,  "the  very 
skilful,  very  learned,  very  amicable  Eschscholz, 
doctor  of  medicine  and  equally  expert  in  botany 
and  entomology,"  and,  secondly,  in  commemoration 
of  the  land  where  the  flower  was  found.  From  the 
seeds  collected  by  Chamisso,  the  flower  was  intro- 
duced into  European  gardens  where  it  has  long  been 
an  established  favorite.  Present  day  botanists 

*  But  Chamisso's  name  for  the  genus  lacked  the  t  that  somehow 
has  since  attached  itself  to  a  word  which,  one  would  have  thought, 
was  already  sufficiently  wealthy  in  consonants. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  107 

classify  the  eschscholtzia  under  several  species, 
based  on  characters  of  more  serious  import  to  the 
man  of  science  than  to  the  general  public,  to  whom 
the  various  species  all  look  pretty  much  alike.  The 
genus,  though  growing  wild  almost  wholly  within 
the  limits  of  California,  is  also  found  sparingly 
northward  in  Oregon  and  Washington,  and  strays 
southward  into  upper  Mexico  and  across  the  Sierra 
Nevada  into  the  Great  Basin.  The  Spanish-Cali- 
fornians  reckon  it  among  remedial  plants,  and  as  a 
pain-killer  and  a  soporific  it  has  had  more  or  less 
vogue  in  family  medicine,  as  might  be  expected  of 
it — for  it  is  a  true  poppy,  a  member  of  the  same 
drowsy  family  with  the  immemorial  flower  of  sleep 
and  the  Shirleys  of  our  garden.  Our  Spanish  peo- 
ple have  several  names  for  it,  as  torosa  and  toronja 
— the  latter  a  curious  case  of  transference,  appar- 
ently, for  the  word  properly  means  the  grape-fruit ; 
but  prettier  than  either  of  these  is  the  name  it 
shares  with  the  garden  poppies,  dormidera,  the 
sleepy  one,  because  of  its  habit  of  closing  its  petals 
at  the  approach  of  evening,  as  though  dropping  off 
to  sleep.  American  writers  of  a  sentimental  cast 
have  taken  kindly  to  copa  de  oro,  cup  of  gold,  which 
is  given  in  books  as  one  of  its  Spanish  names,  but 
I  must  confess  I  have  not  found  it  in  use  among 


108       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

the   people.    It   sounds   suspiciously  like   a   book- 
name  made  up  out  of  a  Spanish  dictionary. 

Close  of  kin  to  the  Eschscholtzias  are  several 
other  California  genera  of  poppies,  one  of  which, 
Platystemon  Californicus,  greets  the  flower-hunter 
in  early  spring  throughout  the  State,  lending  a 
touch  of  soft  color,  sometimes  acres  in  extent,  to 
plain  and  mesa.  The  petals  are  of  the  hue  of  rich 
cream  and  the  flower  is  happily  described  by  its 
popular  California  name — cream  cups.  In  Eng- 
land where  it  is  cultivated  in  gardens  it  is,  I  believe, 
sometimes  called  Calif ornian  poppy.  The  yellow 
tree-poppy  (Dendromecon  rigidum)  is  remarkable 
as  being  a  shrubby  member  of  the  family,  a  large 
bush  often  taller  than  a  man,  with  willow-like  foli- 
age amid  which  the  bright  yellow  blooms  gleam 
like  gold  double-eagles,  spring  and  summer.  Then 
there  are  those  great,  glorious  white  poppies  with  a 
multitude  of  yellow  stamens  at  their  hearts,  the 
chicalote  (Argemone  platyceras),  and  the  Matilija5 
poppy  (Romneya  Coulteri).  The  former  is  a 
thistle-like  plant  of  the  semi-arid  plains  and  sandy 
washes  of  the  south,  and  while  its  regal  blossoms 
are  as  striking  as  those  of  the  Eomneya,  the  plant 

G  Pronounced  matil'ihah,  the  name  of  a  canon  where  it  is  abundant 
in  the  Santa  Yne"s  Mountains.  The  plant's  specific  name  preserves 
the  memory  of  its  first  collector,  Dr.  Thomas  Coulter,  the  botanical 
discoverer  of  the  Colorado  Desert  region  of  southeastern  California. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  109 

itself  is  smaller  and  less  imposing.  The  Romneya 
is  indeed  the  giant  among  California  wild  flowers. 
The  magnificent  blooms,  with  white  petals  of  the 
texture  of  crepe,  are  from  six  to  eight  inches  across, 
and  are  set  singly  but  in  great  profusion  in  the 
midst  of  the  blue-green  foliage,  on  bushes  which  are 
sometimes  as  high  as  twelve  or  fifteen  feet.  It  is 
of  rather  local  occurrence,  though  abundant  enough 
where  it  does  grow,  from  Santa  Barbara  County  to 
Lower  California.  It  is  a  favorite  in  California 
gardens,  where  it  is  better  known  than  in  its  wild 
haunts.  Indeed  most  people  do  not  know  it  for  a 
wild  flower  at  all. 

Chaparral  and  Bee-Pasture 

To  feel  yourself  really  in  the  California  of  your 
dreams,  there  is  nothing  like  riding  your  mustang 
on  a  trail  through  the  chaparral.  There  is  some- 
thing in  this  word  chaparral  that  smacks  of  the 
California  soil  in  a  way  that  no  other  word  does. 
You  have  come  across  it  in  books  of  travel  and  in 
tales  of  adventure;  you  do  not  know  just  what  it 
means,  but  it  sounds  romantic  and  Spanish-buc- 
caneerish,  and  as  soon  as  you  arrive  you  are  agog 
to  find  out  about  it.  So,  some  sunny  April  morn- 
ing when  the  air  is  full  of  bird  song  and  the  roses 
are  blowing  fragrant  kisses  to  you  from  every  gate 


110      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

post  and  cottage  porch,  it  is  you  for  the  mustang 
and  the  chaparral  trail. 

Now  there  is  chaparral  and  there  is  chamisal, 
and  to  the  undiscriminating  American  sons  and 
daughters  of  the  Golden  West,  they  are  the  same 
thing — what  the  Easterner  calls  brush  or  scrub,  or 
in  more  stately  English,  a  thicket.  To  the  Spanish- 
Calif  ornian,  however,  there  is  a  difference.  Chami- 
sal is  a  thick  stand  of  chamiso,  the  name  which  the 
Spanish  apply  to  the  shrubby  evergreen  greasewood 
that  covers  mile  after  mile  of  mountain  slopes 
throughout  California,  particularly  in  the  south,  the 
Adenostoma  of  botanists.  Chaparral  is  strictly  a 
dense  growth  of  more  or  less  thorny  shrubs  and 
small  trees  of  various  sorts  in  which  the  chaparro, 
or  scrub  live-oak,  predominates;  and  because  a 
rider  on  horseback  will  get  his  clothing  cut  to  shreds 
by  going  through  it  at  a  rapid  gait,  he  envelopes 
his  legs  in  chaparrajos  or  chaparreros,  the  real 
name  of  the  leather  overalls  that  cowboys  and  nov- 
elists have  made  over  into  "shaps."  Quite  as 
often  as  not  Nature  mixes  up  the  two  sorts  of 
thicket,  and  in  our  discussion  of  them,  they  need  not 
be  kept  separate. 

In  many  places  much  of  this  chaparral  growth 
will  be  found  to  be  made  up  of  ceanothus,  popu- 
larly known  as  California  lilac  or  myrtle.  There 


IN  CALIFORNIA  111 

are  numerous  species,  mostly  shrubs  but  some  tall 
enough  to  be  regarded  as  small  trees.  Most  of 
them  are  very  showy  in  the  spring  with  the  abun- 
dant blooms,  which  while  individually  small  are 
borne  in  great  profusion  in  clusters  and  trusses  of 
white  and  various  shades  of  blue,  giving  tone  to 
whole  mountainsides.  Many  species  revel  in  the 
hot  sunshine  of  dry  sterile  slopes  amid  gravel  and 
loose  rocks,  while  others  are  found  in  cool  canons 
by  living  streams  or  in  the  protecting  shadows  of 
oaks  or  conifers.  To  the  mountain  traveler  in 
California  they  are  among  the  most  familiar  of 
shrubs,  and  they  furnish  to  cattle  and  sheep  men  a 
valuable  browse  for  their  flocks  and  herds.  There 
is  one  species  of  ceanothus  indigenous  to  eastern 
woodlands,  whose  leaves  in  Eevolutionary  days 
were  turned  to  a  very  different  use — the  making 
of  tea  for  such  of  our  ancestors  as  could  not  or 
would  not  buy  the  real  article  from  England. 

Better  known  to  Californians  than  these  wild 
lilacs,  is  another  shrub  or  little  tree  of  the  chapar- 
ral, Heteromeles  arbutifolia,  whose  red  berries  are 
universally  sought  in  December  for  Christmas 
decorations.  It  is  variously  known  as  toyon, 
Christmas  berry,  or  California  holly,  though  it  is  in 
no  sense  a  holly,  but  a  cousin  to  the  rose.  In  Great 
Britain,  where  it  was  introduced  over  a  century 


112       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

ago,  it  goes  by  the  name  of  California  Maybush,  the 
plant  being  at  first  regarded  as  a  species  of  haw- 
thorn, which  in  England  is  often  called  the  May. 
In  midsummer  the  rich  green  crowns  of  the  toyon 
— Spanish- American  tollon  of  the  same  pronouncia- 
tion — are  lighted  with  abundant  panicles  of  small 
white  flowers;  but  in  its  native  State  it  is  not  until 
the  early  days  of  winter  when  the  bushes  are  all 
aglow  with  their  masses  of  red  berries,  that  the 
plant  becomes  an  object  of  especial  interest.  Then 
every  week-end  the  canons  and  chaparral  slopes 
are  scoured  by  parties  of  young  and  old  in  quest  of 
the  berry-bearing  branches,  and  as  the  true  holly 
is  not  indigenous  to  California,  these  mock-holly 
berries  have  come  to  take  their  place  in  the  Yule- 
tide  festivities  of  the  Golden  State.  As  the  leaf  of 
the  toyon  is  not  at  all  holly-like,  makers  of  Christ- 
mas greenery  sometimes  mingle  sprigs  of  the  ber- 
ries with  the  spiny  foliage  of  chaparro,  or  of  still 
another  shrub  of  the  chaparral  whose  leaves  bear 
some  resemblance  to  holly.  This  is  the  wild  cherry, 
a  decorative  shrub  summer  and  winter,  whose 
glossy  leaves  glisten  like  shining  morning  faces  in 
the  sunshine  which  they  love.  The  dark  crimson 
cherries  which  are  ripe  in  the  autumn  and  resemble 
small  round  plums,  look  very  tempting  to  the 
thirsty  wayfarer,  but  are  disappointing  in  having 


IN  CALIFORNIA  113 

but  a  thin  layer  of  pulp  spread  over  a  large  stone. 
"What  there  is  of  the  fruit  is  pleasant  enough  to  the 
taste,  but  like  Sam  Weller's  valentine,  one  could 
wish  there  was  more  of  it.  The  Spanish-Californi- 
ans  call  it  islay,  and  by  the  Indians  it  was  utilized 
both  pulp  and  pit — the  latter  being  cracked  to  re- 
lease the  kernel  which  was  then  treated  like  the 
acorns  and  made  into  meal. 

The  chaparral  trails  also  give  us  a  new  idea  in 
sumacs,  which  we  value  in  the  East  for  the  autumnal 
glories  of  their  pinnate  leaves  in  red  and  orange, 
and  their  thyrses  of  crimson  fruit,  lasting  far  into 
the  winter.  The  California  chaparral  is  the  home 
of  two  or  three  species  so  different  from  the  eastern 
forms  as  to  be  unrecognizable  as  sumacs  by  the  non- 
botanical.  Their  leaves  are  simple,  not  compound, 
more  or  less  thick  and  leathery  of  texture  and 
persist  through  the  winter.  One  species  (Rhus  in- 
tegrifolia)  attains  the  proportions  of  a  small  tree, 
and  is  known  locally  as  mahogany,  because  of  the 
rich  red,  hard  wood  of  its  heart.  This  and  the  kin- 
dred species  Rhus  ovata,  possess  an  especial  inter- 
est in  the  character  of  the  berries  that  they  bear. 
These,  which  are  ripe  in  late  summer,  are  flat  and 
circular  with  a  thin,  sticky  pulp  densely  covered 
with  a  fine  crimson  down.  They  are  very  acid,  and 
may  be  used  advantageously  to  enliven  the  warm 


114       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

water  of  your  canteen  on  a  hot  day ;  only  do  not  put 
them  into  the  canteen  itself  or  the  acid  of  the  berry, 
acting  upon  the  metal  of  the  vessel,  may  by  and  by 
poison  the  water.  The  proper  procedure  is  to  stir 
a  few  berries  in  a  cup  of  water  which  quickly  be- 
comes as  sour  as  sugarless  lemonade  and  as  re- 
freshing. For  this  reason  these  sumacs  also  go  by 
the  name  of  Indian  lemonade  berry. 

The  man^anita,  of  which  there  are  three  or  four 
species  indigenous  to  the  State,  is  one  of  the  best 
known  shrubs  of  the  chaparral  belt,  often  forming 
thickets  impenetrable  except  by  the  beasts  of  the 
wild.  The  tortuous  branches  polished  and  dark 
red,  and  the  persistent,  grayish  leaves  which  a 
twist  of  the  petiole  usually  sets  vertical,  make  the 
manzanita  one  of  the  most  noticeable  of  shrubs; 
and  the  beauty,  smoothness  and  hardness  of  the 
wood  fire  the  cane-collecting  traveler  with  an  am- 
bition to  add  a  manzanita  specimen  or  two  to  his 
armory,  but  he  seeks  long  for  a  stick  of  it  that  does 
not  twist  a  dozen  different  ways  to  the  foot. 

"I  never  yet,"  remarked  an  old  mountaineer, 
"saw  a  manzanita  cane  that  didn't  remind  me  of  a 
bow-legged  man  for  crookedness,  and  I've  been 
looking  for  a  straight  one  these  thirty  years.  They 
tell  me  there's  an  institution  back  East  that  has  a 
standing  offer  of  five  thousand  dollars  for  a 


- 


IN  CALIFORNIA  115 

straight,  natural  stick  of  manzanita  five  feet  long. 
I'd  like  to  be  stake  holder  for  that  offer!" 

The  fruit  is  a  berry  in  shape  like  a  tiny  apple 
(which  is  the  meaning  of  the  Spanish  word  man- 
zanita) but  the  likeness  goes  no  further,  for  it  is 
dry,  stony  and  puckery.  It  is,  however,  packed 
with  nutrition  for  stomachs  that  can  digest  it,  and 
bears  and  Indians  are  in  that  class.  Mr.  V.  K. 
Chesnut  states  that  the  green  berries,  while  so  indi- 
gestible as  to  cause  colic  if  consumed  in  quantity, 
are  tart  enough  to  quench  thirst,  a  fact  worth  know- 
ing to  any  one  caught  waterless  on  the  dry,  hot  hill 
sides  which  the  plants  often  occupy.  The  Indians 
of  Northern  California  use  them  in  various  ways, 
but  the  fruit  must  be  eaten  in  moderation  or  the 
intestines  become  stopped  to  a  degree  that  may 
cause  death.  Manzanita  cider,  which  some  tribes 
make  to  perfection,  appeals  even  to  civilized  pal- 
ates. By  the  mountain  white  folk  the  berries  are 
gathered  for  jelly  making,  and  one  of  the  pleasant 
incidents  on  the  chaparral  trail  is  your  coming  upon 
a  party  of  happy-faced  lads  and  lassies  at  their 
manzanita  harvest,  shouting  to  one  another  across 
the  expanse  of  bushes,  to  the  accompaniment  of 
their  tinkling  pails.  The  Indian  way  is  to  thrash 
the  berries  into  the  huge  maws  of  their  conical  bur- 
den baskets — work  which  is  done  by  the  squaws,  the 


116       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

babies  meanwhile  strapped  in  their  wicker  cradles 
and  laid  on  a  shady  bank,  or,  as  Mr.  Chesnut  tells, 
wrapped  in  the  flexible  green  leaves  of  the  moun- 
tain iris,  which  protects  them  from  thirst. 

To  the  bees  the  chaparral  is  one  vast  honey  pas- 
ture, as  yet  undisturbed  by  the  march  of  improve- 
ment which  has  all  but  wiped  out  the  glorious  wild 
gardens  that  covered  the  plains  and  valleys  of  Cali- 
fornia until  a  generation  or  so  ago.  From  Janu- 
ary, when  the  clustered,  waxen  little  urns  of  the 
manzanita  open  to  the  sun,  to  December  when  late 
lingerers  like  the  Zauschneria  or  wild  fuchsia,  and 
certain  mints  and  composites  may  still  be  found, 
there  is  always  some  bloom,  though  the  great  honey 
harvest  is  during  the  six  months  from  March  till 
September.  Besides  the  yield  from  the  flowers  of 
the  shrubs  that  make  up  the  chaparral  there  is  un- 
stinted nectar  to  be  had  from  myriads  of  other  blos- 
soms that  awaken  with  the  advent  of  spring  and 
brighten  the  sunny  interspaces  of  the  belt — scarlet 
castilleias  and  minty  monardellas  in  blue,  yellow 
hosackias,  native  clovers  and  purple  lupins  (which 
in  the  more  open  places  dye  the  hillsides  with  solid 
color),  wild  buckwheat  and  sages  white  and  black, 
wild  gooseberry,  blue  phacelias  and  the  clambering 
white-starred  vines  of  the  chilicothe  or  wild  encum- 
ber. Here  we  find  thickets  of  yerba  santa  in  solid 


IN  CALIFORNIA  117 

sheets  of  lavender  and  pentstemons  of  several 
species,  one  that  nearly  every  one  knows  bearing 
panicles  a  foot  or  two  long  of  vivid  scarlet  trumpet- 
shaped  flowers,  which  have  suggested  the  popular 
name,  scarlet  bugler.  This  is  Penstemon  centran- 
fhifolius,  and  its  colonies  brighten  the  chaparral 
sometimes  by  the  acre.  The  bees  have  no  monopoly 
of  its  sweets,  for  upon  it  the  hummers  levy  special 
tribute — a  fact  that  has  given  rise  to  another  pretty 
name,  humming-bird's  dinner-horn.  No  less  con- 
spicuous in  their  way  are  the  mimuluses 6  or  mon- 
key flowers,  their  yellow  or  salmon-colored  blossoms 
set  thick  upon  the  little  bushes  somewhat  suggesting 
azaleas. 

Certain  of  the  chaparral  plants  are  peculiar  in 
withholding  their  bloom  until  after  months  of 
drought.  Then,  one  day,  after  such  a  drying  out 
as  would  have  mummified  an  ordinary  plant,  the 
flowers  spread  their  exquisite  corollas  to  the  air  and 
light.  Such  is  a  Pacific  Coast  relative  of  the  gar- 
den's bleeding-heart — the  golden  dicentra,  which  I 
have  collected  in  the  breathless  heat  of  many  a  mid- 
July  noon;  and  a  larkspur  (Delphinium  cardinale), 

e  Cousins  of  the  old-fashioned  musk  plant  of  our  grandmothers' 
window  boxes,  which  is  a  California  wild  flower  growing  by  moun- 
tain brooks — Mimulus  moschatus,  an  introduction  of  Douglas's.  His 
original  collection  of  it,  however,  was  in  Oregon  in  1826.  Many  other 
California  species  have  long  been  prized  in  the  gardens  of  Europe. 


118      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

with  flowers  like  flames  of  fire,  that  bloom  often  on 
stalks  from  which  the  suns  of  August  have  scorched 
every  leaf.  But  the  glory  of  the  chaparral  flowers 
— at  least  in  the  southern  half  of  California — is  a 
certain  yucca  (Y.  Whipplei),  which  in  May  and 
June  lifts  its  tall,  slender  panicles  on  the  dry  hill- 
sides like  great  exclamation  points.  The  plant  it- 
self is  a  stemless  mass  of  stiletto-like  leaves  about 
two  feet  long,  which  radiate  fiercely  in  all  direc- 
tions forming  an  unapproachable  hemisphere  squat 
upon  the  ground.  From  the  midst  of  this  vege- 
table hedgehog  the  flower-stalk  rises  like  a  spire  to 
a  height  of  ten,  twelve  or  fifteen  feet,  breaking 
throughout  half  its  upper  length  into  a  myriad 
creamy  cups  of  solid  bloom.  The  Coahuilla  Indians, 
with  utilitarian  thrift,  boiled  these  waxen  blossoms 
and  ate  them.  Were  poets  made  of  that  they  feed 
on,  what  rhapsodies  and  lyrics  might  not  a  dinner 
of  yucca  flowers  inspire !  Town  folk  who  go  to  the 
hills  for  an  outing  bring  hundreds  of  these  titanic 
yucca  bouquets  back  with  them,  severed  at  the  base 
of  the  stalk,  and  borne  on  their  shoulders  or  in  car- 
riages or  automobiles,  to  be  stood  in  some  corner 
at  home  where  they  remain  fresh  for  days.  The 
plant  dies  after  flowering,  but  offsets  from  the  old 
root  continue  the  generation.  Miss  Parsons  in  her 
excellent  manual,  "The  Wild  Flowers  of  Calif  or- 


IN  CALIFORNIA  110 

nia,"  gives  as  a  common  name  of  this  magnificent 
yucca  "Our  Lord's  Candle,"  which  it  well  deserves 
— no  doubt  an  English  version  of  some  stately  Span- 
ish appellation,  La  Vela  del  Senor,  perhaps. 

In  these  chaparral-covered  slopes  of  the  foothills, 
at  the  mouth  of  some  flowery  canon,  where  a  spring 
collects  its  limpid  waters  in  a  lily-haunted  dell,  one 
comes  now  and  then  upon  a  bee-rancher,  his  shack 
set  close  to  a  little  city  of  white  box-hives.  A  de- 
cade or  two  ago,  there  were  many  such,  though  now- 
adays the  encroachment  of  millionaires  who  are 
awakening  to  the  worth  of  such  view-commanding 
sites  for  their  white-walled  villas,  is  making  the  land 
too  valuable  for  these  old-fashioned  apiarists.  An 
idyllic,  Virgilian  sort  of  life  it  seems  to  have  been 
— the  bee-rancher's — quite  suitable  for  this  Land  of 
the  Afternoon,  with  a  vast  outlook  over  orchard 
and  vineyard  and  grain  lands  to  the  sinking  sun 
gilding  the  lazy  waters  of  the  Pacific.  He  had  his 
cow  in  the  chaparral,  and  there  was  his  gun  on  a 
pair  of  pegs  over  his  fireplace  to  shoot  rabbits  now 
and  then  or  perhaps  a  deer,  and  there  was  a  little 
patch  of  garden,  when  the  spring  had  irrigation 
water  to  spare.  He  had  few  wants,  and  what  he 
could  not  raise  or  shoot,  he  bought  with  cash  ob- 
tained by  a  trip  to  town  with  a  few  cans  of  white- 
sage  honey  from  his  hives,  or  a  load  of  greasewood 


120       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

roots  grubbed  up  in  the  hills  and  sold  for  fuel.  On 
the  lonely  summit  of  one  of  the  foothills  of  the 
Sierra  Madre  north  of  Pasadena,  there  is  the  soli- 
tary grave  of  one  of  these  old-time  ranchers  of  the 
chaparral.  A  half-obliterated  trail,  known  to  few, 
leads  to  it  through  a  fragrant  tangle  of  sage,  and 
on  the  rough  granite  rock  that  marks  this  resting 
place  of  a  kindly  heart,  is  carved  this  inscription: 
"Owen  Brown,  son  of  John  Brown,  the  Liberator, 
Died  Jan.  9,  1888,  Aged  64  years." 

Soap  from  Bushes 

"I  suppose,"  said  an  old  Calif ornian  to  me  one 
day,  "if  I  were  to  tell  you  that  soap  grows  wild  out 
here,  you'd  think  it  was  another  California  tall 
story." 

We  were  jogging  along  a  foothill  road  in  a  buck- 
board  with  a  pair  of  broncos,  and  I  noticed  my 
companion  was  eyeing  the  slope  of  chaparral  at  one 
side,  where  the  California  lilacs  were  blooming  by 
the  twenty  acres. 

"Well,"  I  replied,  "a  tenderfoot  likes  evidence, 
you  know." 

He  pulled  up  the  horses,  and  alighting,  stripped 
from  the  nearest  bushes  a  handful  of  the  blossoms ; 
then  dipping  his  hands  into  a  ditch  of  running  water 
by  the  roadside,  he  rubbed  water  and  flowers  well 


IN  CALIFORNIA  121 

together  for  a  moment  and  to  my  astonishment  his 
hands  were  bathed  in  a  foamy  lather.  Then  he 
rinsed  them  and  spread  them  before  me. 

"It  does  the  work,  you  see,"  he  grinned. 

I  got  down  from  the  wagon  and  did  it  myself. 
There  was  no  deception.  My  hands  were  as  clean 
as  the  best  toilet  soap  could  have  made  them,  soft  as 
velvet  and  fragrant  with  a  spicy  fragrance. 

The  Calif ornian  chuckled. 

"It's  hard  to  beat  the  truth  about  this  State,"  he 
remarked  complacently.  "When  our  people  lie 
about  things,  it's  just  a  perverted  habit — they  don't 
have  to.  There  are  a  dozen  sorts  of  these  wild 
lilacs  in  the  chaparral,  and  all  of  them  that  I  have 
tried  have  the  same  soapy  principle  in  the  flowers 
and  also  in  the  green  seed-vessels.  Now  I'll  tell 
you  something  more.  When  Nature  stocked  us  up 
with  soap,  she  didn't  stop  with  one  sort;  she  put 
several  brands  on  the  shelves.  Here's  another  one 
— more  popular  than  the  lilac  flowers,  for  somehow 
very  few  people,  even  Californians,  seem  to  know 
about  them.  But  here's  one  most  country  people 
know. ' ' 

He  stooped  and  with  a  big  jack-knife  that  he  took 
from  his  trousers'  pocket,  he  began  digging  about  a 
stemless  plant,  whose  broad,  grass-like  leaves,  some- 
what crinkled,  were  sprawling  on  the  ground.  After 


122      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

going  down  three  or  four  inches,  he  grasped  the  un- 
derground base  of  the  plant,  and  pulled  at  it  steadily. 
In  a  moment  it  came  loose,  and  he  held  up  to  me  what 
looked  like  a  ball  of  coarse  blackish  burlap.  Ex- 
amination showed  that  the  root  of  the  grassy  plant 
was  a  bulb  about  the  size  of  an  onion,  but  more 
elongated,  encased  in  a  snugly  fitting  fiber  coat, 
which  was  readily  stripped  off. 

"This  sort,"  remarked  the  Calif ornian,  "is 
amole.7  At  least  the  Spanish  people  call  it  that. 
People  that  prefer  American  names  say  soap-root. 
Nature  does  up  each  of  these  cakes  in  a  wrapper. 
See,  when  this  fiber  is  stripped  off,  here  is  a  nice 
clean  ball  of  soap.  You  crush  this  up  in  your 
hand ' ' — suiting  the  action  to  the  word — * '  and  it  just 
leaks  soapiness  though  there  is  more  in  the  dried 
bulb." 

Eubbing  his  hands  in  the  water,  a  cleansing  lather 
was  produced  as  in  the  case  of  the  wild  lilac  flowers. 

* '  The  Indians  knew  all  about  this  plant, ' '  he  went 
on,  "and  while  most  white  people  have  an  idea  that 
Indians  don't  naturally  wash  themselves,  they're 
mistaken.  This  amole  makes  a  capital  hair  wash, 
and  the  Indians  knew  it  long  before  we  did.  They 
found,  too,  that  cooking  dispelled  the  soapiness,  and 

T  Botanieally,  Chlorogalum  pomeridianum,  a  plant  of  the  lily  tribe, 
peculiar  to  California. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  123 

made  the  bulbs  as  good  to  eat  as  potatoes — great  act, 
wasn't  it,  like  a  sleight-of-hand  trick.  Ladies  and 
gentlemen,  here's  a  cake  of  soap  or  a  potato,  as 
you  please!  Which  shall  it  be?  Then  they  knew 
another  queer  thing  about  it — that  you  can  catch 
fish  with  it.  They  would  dam  up  the  streams,  and 
throw  mashed  amole  in  the  water.  That  stupefied 
the  fish,  it  seems,  so  they  floated  up  to  the  top  of  the 
water,  where  Mr.  Indian  gathered  them  in.  That 
wasn't  sport  but  it  got  results,  and  I  guess  the  fish 
liked  it  better  than  being  hooked.  Of  course  our 
law  doesn't  allow  that  sort  of  pot-hunting  now." 

"Yes,  sir,"  my  Calif ornian  continued,  as  he 
climbed  back  into  the  wagon  and  started  up  the 
broncos,  "there's  no  excuse  for  going  grimy  in  this 
State,  where  soap  grows  on  bushes.  Why  there's 
even  a  kind  of  pigweed — there's  some  there"8 — 
pointing  with  his  whip  to  the  roadside — ' '  that  yields 
soap.  It  has  a  root  like  a  carrot  in  shape;  you 
pound  it  up  on  a  stone,  and  with  a  little  water, 
you've  got  your  soap.  Then  there's  chili-cojote, 
that  creeping  bad-smelling  vine  we  passed  just  now, 
that  bears  yellow  gourds  on  it  that  look  like  oranges 
scattered  over  the  ground — mock  orange  some  folks 
call  it ;  you  can  mash  its  roots  and  use  it  for  soap ; 
but  a  better  root  is  from  the  Spanish  bayonets — 

s  Chenopodium  Californicum. 


124      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

species  of  yucca — that  grow  especially  on  our  des- 
erts, and  in  fact  all  over  the  Southwest,  including 
Arizona  and  New  Mexico.  You  have  to  grub  those 
roots  out  with  a  pick,  for  they  are  hig  and  go  so  deep 
for  their  moisture  in  that  dry  land,  and  it  doesn't 
pay  an  American  to  bother  with  them.  Mexicans 
and  Indians  make  a  practise  of  digging  them,  cut 
them  in  pieces  like  so  many  bars  of  soap,  soften 
them  by  pounding  with  a  hammer  or  stone,  and  then 
dipping  a  piece  in  water  they  rub  it  on  their  hands, 
and  get  a  fine  lather.  They  call  that  amole,  too." 


VI 

INDIAN  USES  OF  CALIFORNIA  PLANTS 

WHATEVEE  the  shortcomings  of  the  Cali- 
fornia Indian,  whom  it  is  the  fashion  to  put 
down  at  the  tail  of  our  class  of  aborigines,  he  was 
not  a  bad  botanist  in  his  native  estate,  and  what  he 
knew  about  the  wild  plants  and  their  uses  in  the 
economy  of  the  simple  life  makes  quite  a  respect- 
able showing. 

Pine-nuts  and  Acorns 

Indian  life  throughout  California  before  the  white 
man  came  and  for  two  or  three  generations  after- 
wards in  the  wilder  parts  of  the  interior,  was  some- 
thing of  a  Saturnian  matter.  The  mildness  of  the 
climate  reduced  the  necessities  of  clothing  and  shel- 
ter to  a  minimum.  There  was  no  government — 
even  native — making  vexatious  laws  to  restrict  a 
man's  going  and  coming,  what  he  should  eat  or 
what  he  should  drink,  for  aboriginal  California  was 
remarkable  for  its  lack  of  social  organization. 

There  were  no  tax  collectors ;  there  was  land  enough 
125 


126       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

for  everybody,  and  a  living  was  to  be  had  for  the 
picking  from  the  shrubs  and  trees  and  wild  grasses. 
To  this  abundance  of  natural  foods,  perhaps,  is  due 
the  fact  that  the  Indians  of  the  Pacific  Coast,  unlike 
their  brethren  to  the  east  of  the  Sierra  Nevada, 
knew  nothing  of  agriculture.  There  was  no  need  of 
planting  and  tending  crops  of  maize  and  beans 
when  limitless  groves  of  oaks  and  nut-pines  dropped 
their  nutritious  fruits  into  the  open  hand.  Acorns 
and  pine-nuts  were,  indeed,  the  California  Indian's 
staff  of  life,  and  still  are  in  many  rancherias  of  the 
more  remote  mountain  districts.  The  pine-nuts,  or 
pinons,  to  use  the  common  name  by  which  they  are 
called  in  the  Southwest,  are  the  seeds  of  several 
species  of  pine — particularly,  in  California,  Pinus 
monophylla  and  P.  Sabiniana.  The  former  tree  is 
commonest  on  the  desert  slopes  of  the  Sierra  Ne- 
vada, and  occurs  southward  to  the  Mexican  line ;  the 
latter  species  is  most  abundant  in  Central  Cali- 
fornia from  the  coast  to  the  western  slope  of  the 
Sierra.  Pinus  Sabiniana,  indeed,  because  of  the  ex- 
tensive use  of  its  seeds  by  the  Indians,  has  acquired 
the  popular  name  of  "Digger"  pine.  The  gather- 
ing of  the  seeds  makes  a  festival  for  those  Indians 
who  still  consume  them,  and  readers  of  John  Muir's 
"Mountains  of  California"  will  recall  his  pictur- 
esque description  of  such  a  junket.  The  method 


IN  CALIFORNIA  127 

usually  followed  is  to  gather  the  cones  while  still 
closed,  and  cast  them  into  a  fire  of  sticks  made  in 
the  open.  The  heat  of  the  flame  has  the  effect  of 
opening  the  cones  and  consuming  the  resin  with 
which  they  are  abundantly  gummed.  The  nuts  are 
then  easily  picked  out.  Even  to  civilized  palates 
these  little  pine-nuts,  which  are  about  the  size  of 
marrowfat  peas,  are  really  delicious,  besides  being 
rich  in  nutriment  and  very  digestible.  Their 
slightly  terebinthine  flavor  when  raw  is  more  or  less 
dissipated  by  roasting  as  we  would  roast  peanuts  or 
chestnuts,  a  fact  that  the  Indian  knows  as  well  as 
we.  Large  quantities  of  pinons  find  their  way  into 
city  markets,  and  are  much  esteemed  particularly  by 
the  Spanish  element  in  our  population. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  "Doc."  Syvertson,  who  kept  a 
little  mountain  resort  in  the  pinon  country,  "pinons 
is  sure  good  fruit — they're  the  sort  when  you  git 
the  taste  for  'em  you  can't  stop  eatin'  of  'em  till 
you've  cleaned  up  the  works.  In  season  the  trails 
all  over  the  Southwest  is  lined  with  pinon  shells. 
Folks  don't  eat  'em  by  the  pound — they  eat  'em  by 
the  mile.  How  long  do  they  keep?  Lord,  nobody 
knows  that — they  don't  keep ;  folks  eat  'em  too  fast. 
They  have  it  all  over  peanuts,  believe  me.  Back 
East  in  New  Mexico  when  me  and  Sullivan  kept 
store  oncest  among  the  Navajos,  a  sack  of  pinons 


128       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

passed  the  same  as  banknotes  while  they  lasted ;  but 
they  was  all  gone  by  New  Year's." 

Pinus  monophylla — that  is,  one-leaf  pine — is  a 
chunky  little  tree  which  has  botanic  interest  be- 
cause its  needles,  instead  of  being  bunched  in  groups 
of  from  two  to  five  as  in  other  pines,  occur  singly; 
but  as  a  tree  it  is  without  features  that  would  be 
apt  to  attract  the  attention  of  one  not  interested  in 
technical  details.  The  Digger  pine,  however,  is  a 
remarkable  looking  tree,  wan  and  wraith-like  be- 
cause of  its  long  ashen-gray  foliage,  which  so 
markedly  differentiates  the  species  from  all  its  fel- 
low conifers  that  it  can  hardly  go  unnoticed  by  even 
the  careless. 

As  to  acorns,  there  is  considerable  choice  among 
the  various  species  of  oaks,  some,  from  the  Indian's 
point  of  view,  producing  much  better  food  material 
than  others.  One  of  the  most  distinctive  of  Cali- 
fornia varieties  is  the  black  or  Kellogg  oak  (Quer- 
cus  Calif ornica).  Its  name  preserves  the  memory 
of  Dr.  Albert  Kellogg  of  San  Francisco,  a  Forty- 
niner,  who,  leaving  to  others  the  digging  of  gold, 
devoted  himself  to  exploiting  the  mines  of  his 
adopted  State's  botanical  wealth.  The  acorns  of 
this  oak  have  always  been  among  the  most  prized 
by  the  Indians,  and  may  be  gathered  from  the  Ore- 
gon line  to  Mexico.  The  nuts  of  the  beautiful  val- 


IN  CALIFORNIA  129 

ley  oak  (Quercus  lobata) — the  roble  of  Spanish  no- 
menclature— are  also  much  used.  There  is  an  un- 
derstanding among  the  different  bands  of  Indians  as 
to  the  usufruct  of  the  tracts,  and  each  is  expected 
to  keep  to  its  own  preserves.  In  the  autumn,  the 
gatherers  collect  the  winter's  store  into  baskets  and 
barley  sacks,  and  bring  it  into  the  rancheria,  where 
up  to  a  generation  or  so  ago  the  stock  was  stored 
in  huge  basketry  receptacles,  lifted  above  the  ground 
on  posts  to  keep  rats  and  squirrels  at  a  distance. 
Such  quaint  granaries  are  still  to  be  met  with  in  out- 
of-the-way  districts. 

The  acorns  are  not  eaten  raw  but  are  put  through 
an  elaborate  course  of  preparation.  First  the  shells 
are  cracked  off,  then  the  kernels  are  ground  by  hand 
with  a  stone  pestle  in  a  stone  mortar,  at  the  cost  of 
much  muscle  and  patience  to  make  the  meal  as  flour- 
like  as  may  be.  The  mortar  is  sometimes  portable, 
but  in  many  cases  the  grinders  have  to  go  to  the 
mortar,  which  is  a  huge  flat  rock  or  boulder,  in 
which  depressions  are  availed  of  for  the  milling. 
Throughout  California  the  traveler  comes  upon  such 
rocks  worn  away  in  spots  in  hollows.  Usually  there 
are  dozens  of  mortar  holes  in  one  rock,  and  one  can 
imagine  how  throughout  the  centuries  the  Indian 
squaws  foregathered  there  on  sunny  winter  days 
and  mingled  the  music  of  their  voices  with  the 


130       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

drumming  of  their  pestles,  as  they  crushed  acorns 
into  meal.  After  the  grinding,  the  next  step  is  to 
extract  the  astringency  and  bitterness  which  char- 
acterize the  acorn.  The  Indian  has  found  that 
water  will  remove  these  unpalatable  principles ;  and 
so  the  meal  is  subjected  to  a  process  of  leaching,  the 
result  of  which  is  a  dough,  in  consistency  much  like 
the  bread  dough  of  our  own  kitchens.  This  is 
either  baked  into  little  loaves,  or  boiled  into  mush 
and  eaten  as  we  eat  cereal  breakfast-foods,  except 
that  the  Indian  dispenses  with  the  concomitants  of 
cream  and  sugar,  or  even  salt.  It  is  rather  insipid 
and  not  entirely  palatable  to  most  white  people,  but 
it  is  unquestionably  nutritious,  and  it  has  been  sug- 
gested that  the  universal  use  of  it  among  California 
Indians  may  have  contributed  to  the  fatness  of  body 
which  is  characteristic  of  them  as  a  race.  The 
members  of  Portola's  expedition  from  San  Diego 
to  San  Francisco  in  1769,  were  reduced  to  eating 
acorns  when  provisions  ran  low,  but  found  them  to 
their  unaccustomed  stomachs  productive  of  indiges- 
tion and  fevers — doubtless  from  lack  of  knowledge 
as  to  their  preparation. 

Indian  Potatoes  and  Pinole 

The  term  "Digger"  applied  to  California  Indians, 
was  given  them  in  contempt  by  the  early  American 


IN  CALIFORNIA  131 

settlers  because  of  a  practise  of  grubbing  up  wild 
roots  for  food ;  though  why  this  should  be  less  aris- 
tocratic than  digging  potatoes  or  pulling  turnips  is 
not  apparent  to  the  impartial  mind.  Strictly  speak- 
ing, however,  it  was  not  so  much  roots  as  the  bulbs 
of  certain  plants  more  or  less  related  to  the  uni- 
versally esteemed  onion,  that  the  Indians  were  delv- 
ing for.  The  abundance  of  bulbous  species  of  the 
lily  tribe  throughout  California  is  one  of  the  note- 
worthy features  of  plant  life  on  the  Coast,  and  the 
Indian  long  ago  discovered  the  nutritiousness  and 
palatability  of  these  juicy  vegetables  of  the  wild. 
Such  bulbs  are  lumped  by  old  settlers  under  the 
general  name  of  Indian  potatoes,  in  conformity  with 
what  seems  almost  a  rule  among  pioneers  to  mis- 
name every  plant  new  to  them;  for  such  bulbs  are 
not  in  any  sense  related  to  the  potato,  though  they 
are  cousins  to  the  onion.  Most  famous  of  these 
plants,  perhaps,  is  the  camas;  but  the  best  camas 
fields  occur  north  of  California  in  Oregon  and  Idaho, 
where  so  much  value  is  placed  upon  this  native  food 
plant  that  at  least  one  Indian  war  has  been  pro- 
voked by  the  encroachments  of  the  white  settlers 
upon  the  Indians  *  preserves  of  it.  Two  or  three 
species  of  the  beautiful  tulip-like  flowers  known  as 
mariposa  lilies  or  tulips  (Calochortus) ;  a  species  of 
dogtooth  violet,  or  erythronium,  which  is  a  beauti- 


132       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

f ul  yellow  lily ;  and  different  kinds  of  the  widely  dis- 
tributed tribe  of  Brodisea,  are  of  this  interesting 
class  of  food  plants,  which  perhaps  formed  a  useful 
dietetic  balance  to  acorn  and  pine-nut.  Certain 
native  species  of  clover  also  were  eaten  raw — leaf, 
stem  and  flower — the  honey  in  the  blossoms  doubt- 
less sweetening  the  mass  and  adding  an  agreeable 
attractiveness  to  this  Nebuchadnezzar  diet,  for 
every  Indian  the  country  over  is  passionately  fond 
of  sweets. 

Many  of  the  so-called  " potatoes"  have  a  pleasant 
nutty  flavor  and  were  eaten  raw,1  but  most  of  them 
the  Indians  preferred  to  cook.  In  this  day  of  fire- 
less  cookers,  the  process  employed  by  the  Indians 
is  not  without  interest  as  showing  that  they  had 
anticipated  the  same  principle.  A  pit  would  be  dug 
in  the  ground  and  lined  with  stones.  Into  this  a 
quantity  of  fire-wood  would  be  placed  and  ignited, 
making  a  huge  bonfire  which  would  heat  the  stones, 
and  upon  dying  down  would  leave  a  good  bed  of  hot 
ashes.  Upon  these  the  '  *  potatoes ' '  would  be  spread, 
covered  with  a  thick  layer  of  leaves  or  brush,  and 
upon  this  would  be  laid  a  covering  of  dirt  sufficient 

i  Mr.  Carl  Purdy,  of  Ukiah,  who  has  made  a  specialty  of  introduc- 
ing native  California  bulbs  into  cultivation,  and  employs  Indians  to 
gather  wild  stock,  states  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  secure  a  suf- 
ficient supply  of  some  kinds  because  the  red  collectors  cannot  refrain 
from  eating  them  as  fast  as  they  dig  them  up! 


IN  CALIFORNIA  133 

to  imprison  all  the  heat.  On  top  of  all  another  fire 
might  or  might  not  be  built,  and  then  the  cooks  went 
about  other  business.  After  the  expiration  of  a 
given  time,  perhaps  twelve  or  twenty-four  hours, 
the  pit  would  be  opened  and  the  bulbs  taken  out 
ready  for  consumption.  This  style  of  cooking  is 
still  to  some  extent  employed  by  the  Indians,  and 
has  the  effect  of  developing  all  the  innate  sweetness 
of  the  article  cooked,  as  well  as  of  increasing  its 
digestibility. 

Another  famous  class  of  Indian  food  is  what  has 
been  known  ever  since  the  Spanish  occupation  as 
pinole,  a  word  used  to  designate  a  meal  made  from 
the  ground  seeds  of  certain  plants,  well  known  to 
the  squaws  and  collected  by  them  in  baskets.  The 
seeds  employed  for  this  purpose  were  very  numer- 
ous, as,  for  instance,  those  of  numbers  of  species  of 
grasses,  notably  wild  oats,  and  a  species  of  Salvia, 
called  chia  by  Indians,  Spaniards,  and  Mexicans 
alike.  The  different  kinds  of  seeds  were  gathered 
separately.  The  squaws  who  did  this  work  would 
go  into  the  places  where  the  plant  sought  for  grew, 
and  with  a  receiving  basket  held  in  one  hand  and  a 
sort  of  basketry  ladle  resembling  a  tennis  racquet 
in  the  other,  would  bat  the  seeds  into  a  basket  until 
a  sufficient  quantity  was  had.  Before  being  eaten 
the  seeds  were  parched.  This  was  ordinarily  done 


184       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

by  tossing  them  about  in  a  flat  basket  with  bits  of 
live  charcoal  inter-mixed.2  The  seeds  were  then 
ground  in  a  mortar  into  meal  and  consumed  either 
dry  or  as  mush. 

Chia,  most  widely  known  of  these  pinole  seeds,  is 
a  very  pretty  wild  flower,  called  by  botanists  Salvia 
Columbariae.  Its  blue  blossoms  are  borne  in  inter- 
rupted whorls  upon  a  spike  that  rises  from  six  to 
twenty  inches  above  the  clustered  gray-green  root- 
leaves,  and  in  point  of  beauty  are  worthy  of  asso- 
ciation in  the  garden  with  the  related  blue  and  red 
sages  beloved  in  cultivation  by  everybody. 

It  is  a  plant  of  so  great  value  that  it  is  a  pity  it  is 
not  better  known  among  the  white  population  to- 
day. The  use  of  the  seed  among  the  aborigines  of 
our  Southwest  and  Mexico  is  of  great  antiquity. 
Archeologists  engaged  in  their  pet  diversion  of  ran- 
sacking abandoned  cemeteries,  have  found  it  in 
quantity  in  ancient  graves,  as  of  the  Santa  Barbara 
Indians,  placed  there  to  feed  the  vanished  soul  on 
its  journey  to  its  long  home ;  and  it  was  among  the 
choice  offerings  of  the  natives  to  their  Spanish  vis- 
itors in  the  early  days.  The  cultivated  seeds  are 
quite  tiny,  and  to  the  lordly  American  of  to-day 

2  Costans6  in  his  account  of  the  Portola  Expedition  in  1769,  speaks 
of  this  practise  of  toasting  seed  in  baskets  and  mentions  hot  pebbles 
aa  used. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  135 

it  seems  ridiculous  that  one  should  bother  to  collect 
such  small  matters  for  a  man's  meat.  They  are 
exceedingly  abundant,  however,  in  each  little  pod, 
and  when  it  is  remembered  that  there  is  nutrition 
enough  in  a  teaspoonful  of  seeds  to  support  a  man 
for  a  day  on  a  forced  march  (according  to  the  state- 
ment of  the  late  Dr.  Cephas  L.  Bard  of  Ventura, 
who  made  a  study  of  native  plants),  the  job  of  chia 
harvesting  is  not  so  hopeless  as  might  appear  at 
first  blush.  The  Indians  managed  it  in  two  ways. 
They  either  gathered  stalk  and  all,  threshing  and 
winnowing  it  afterwards  like  grain;  or,  as  was  the 
usual  California  custom,  they  went  afield  with 
baskets  and  paddles  and  beat  the  seeds  directly  from 
the  plant  as  it  stood,  into  the  basket.  Chia  seed  is 
utilized  for  both  food  and  drink.  The  raw  seeds, 
soaked  in  water,  produce  a  refreshing,  nutritious, 
mucilaginous  beverage,  with  a  slightly  aromatic 
flavor  characteristic  of  the  mint  tribe  to  which  the 
plant  belongs.  A  touch  of  civilization  may  be  given 
to  it  by  adding  sugar  and  a  little  lemon  juice,  and 
you  have  a  summer  drink  whose  novelty  will  bring 
any  hostess  fame  in  this  blase  age — a  drink  that  is 
grateful  even  to  a  nauseated  stomach.  The  more 
usual  disposition  of  the  seeds,  however,  was  first  to 
toast  them  by  tossing  in  a  basket  with  live  coals,  as 
in  the  case  of  other  pinole,  then  grinding  them  in  a 


136       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

mortar  into  meal.  Water  added  to  the  meal  caused 
it  to  enlarge  to  several  times  the  original  bulk.  It 
was  eaten  as  a  mush  or  a  thin  soup.  There  is  noth- 
ing about  the  mild  linseed  flavor  that  a  white  palate 
need  shy  at,  and  the  ease  of  carrying  the  meal  and 
of  cooking  it,  combined  with  the  high  percentage  of 
nutrition,  makes  it  useful  for  campers  and  travelers 
in  the  wild  to-day.  To  the  pampered  taste,  the  ad- 
dition of  a  little  sugar  is  a  help.  The  Spanish  Cali- 
fornians,  no  less  than  the  Indians,  set  great  store  by 
chia,  and  as  late  as  1894,  Dr.  Bard  records,  it  was 
in  demand  in  Southern  California  at  six  to  eight 
dollars  a  pound.  It  is  claimed  for  the  seeds  by 
some  medical  practitioners  that  they  are  of  benefit 
in  gastro-intestinal  disorders.  The  lovely  thistle- 
sage  (Scdvia  carduacea)  a  first  cousin  of  chia  and 
often  found  growing  with  it,  produces  seeds  which 
are  said  to  possess  similar  properties  and  to  be 
quite  as  useful. 

Among  grasses  whose  toasted  seeds,  ground  to 
meal,  have  formed  a  part  of  the  diet  of  the  desert 
Indians,  is  one  which  the  Coahuillas  call  song-wall 
and  botanists  know  as  Panicum  Urvilleanum.  It  is 
indigenous  to  a  very  restricted  area  of  our  country 
— known,  in  fact,  to  occur  only  in  the  sandy  deserts 
of  Arizona  and  Southern  California,  though  it  also 
appears  again  in  Chile  and  Argentina.  The  species 


IN  CALIFORNIA  187 

is  closely  related  to  the  oriental  millet  (Panicum 
miliaceum) ,  which  has  been  cultivated  over  seas  from 
time  immemorial  for  its  edible  seeds,  and  is  men- 
tioned in  the  Old  Testament  (Ezekiel  iv,  9).  It  is 
interesting  to  find  that  the  California  Indians 
should  have  discovered  the  usefulness  of  this  rarer 
American  grass,  distinguishing  it  from  many  that 
are  dietetically  worthless,  and  turned  the  seeds  to 
account  just  as  the  ancient  Hebrews  and  Egyptians 
used  to  do,  and  as  the  Arabs  do  to-day,  with  its  more 
famous  Old  World  cousin. 

Mescal  de  Comer 

While  the  thistle-sage  is  found  principally  in  the 
south,  the  true  chia  is  met  with  throughout  the 
length  of  the  State,  even  in  the  deserts.  The  desert 
Indians,  be  it  known,  had  a  very  extensive  menu. 
Paradoxical  as  it  may  seem,  "the  Land  of  Lost  Bor- 
ders ' '  is  a  good  nursing  mother  to  her  children,  and 
a  desert  Indian  of  the  old  school  was  a  hard  subject 
to  starve.  Besides  chia,  the  seeds  of  several  other 
plants — those  of  at  least  two  sorts  of  sage  brush  for 
instance — went  into  pinole,  and  the  fruits  of  several 
cactuses,  the  prickles  brushed  off,  were  consumed — 
sometimes  raw,  sometimes  cooked.  But  the  great 
treat  of  the  year  came — indeed  still  comes — when 
the  buds  of  the  mescal  are  putting  up.  By  this 


138       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

Aztec  word  Indians  and  Mexicans  call  various 
species  of  Agave,  which  abound  in  the  Southwest- 
ern deserts.  The  California  species  grows  on  the 
sun-scorched  slopes  of  the  sierra  foothills  that  give 
on  the  Colorado  desert.  It  is  a  wild  cousin  of  the 
century  plant  of  our  gardens,  and,  like  it,  radiates 
fat,  olive-green  leaves  stiletto-pointed.  For  years 
the  plant's  stock  of  energy  is  expended  on  the  devel- 
opment of  these  leaves — a  cheval-de-frise  of  protec- 
tion to  the  secret  it  carries  at  its  heart.  Then  some 
day  in  early  March  a  new  impulse  causes  a  bud  as 
big  as  your  fist  to  push  out  from  the  center  of  the 
foliage.  If  not  disturbed,  this  bud  would  develop 
in  a  few  weeks  into  a  tall  stalk  surmounted  by  a 
panicle  of  white  flowers,  but  long  before  this  can 
happen,  the  news  of  the  budding  has  spread  through- 
out the  Indian  rancherias,  and  from  all  directions 
come  Indians — men,  women  and  children — on  foot 
and  on  horseback  and  in  wagons,  to  camp  at  the 
mescal  patches  and  make  harvest  of  the  swelling 
lusciousness.  At  a  certain  stage  of  their  develop- 
ment, the  buds  are  cut  out  and  placed  in  pits  previ- 
ously lined  with  stones  and  made  hot  by  great  bon- 
fires burned  within  them.  The  buds  are  then  cov- 
ered over  with  leaves,  earth  and  more  hot  stones, 
and  left  for  several  days  to  steam  within.  Upon 
uncovering  the  pits,  the  mescal  is  found  thoroughly 


IN  CALIFORNIA  139 

cooked  to  a  soft  brown  mass  of  molasses  candy  con- 
sistency and  flavor.  Part  of  this  is  eaten  fresh  with 
great  gusto.  The  remainder  is  dried  in  the  sun  and 
carried  home  to  mountain  cabin  or  desert  wickiup  to 
be  consumed  later.  It  is,  indeed,  even  to  white  pal- 
ates not  a  bad  titbit,  and  the  Indian,  delighting  as 
he  does  in  all  manner  of  sweets,  is  passionately  fond 
of  it.  The  mescal  buds  are  capable  of  making  by 
distillation  one  of  the  fieriest  intoxicants  known,  as 
hot,  in  "bad  man"  parlance,  as  "a  sulphuric  acid 
cocktail  with  a  cactus-joint  for  a  cherry";  and  the 
fame  of  this  liquor  mescal  as  manufactured  by 
Apaches  and  Mexicans  is  much  more  wide-spread 
than  that  of  the  innocent  food  stuff  called  mescal  de 
comer — mescal  to  eat.  The  making  of  a  distilled 
liquor  from  the  plant  seems  not  to  have  been  known 
to  any  Indians  before  they  were  taught  the  process 
by  white  men,  and  the  California  tribes  appear  not 
yet  to  have  heard  of  it,  or  at  any  rate  to  have  had 
the  good  sense  not  to  resort  to  it. 

Doctor  Flora 

From  the  feast  to  the  doctor  appears  to  be  a  nat- 
ural transition,  so  something  may  here  be  said  about 
the  medicinal  herbs  employed  by  the  Indians.  East 
and  West,  Indian  herb  remedies  have  ever  possessed 
a  certain  glamour  for  a  considerable  part  of  the  white 


140       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

population,  though  the  medical  brother  is  disposed 
to  flout  them  as  poor  stuff.  Old  Manuelito,  whom  I 
met  on  the  desert  one  day  and  who  favored  me  with 
a  report  on  the  medicinal  value,  as  he  conceived  it, 
of  some  herbs  which  I  had  submitted  to  him,  put 
the  matter  this  way: 

"Sure  good  for  Indian;  but  for  white  folks — 
quien  sabe?  Maybe  no  good." 

The  troubles  for  which  the  redman  resorted  to 
plant  remedies,  were  usually  coughs  and  colds, 
rheumatism,  sore  eyes  and  digestive  disorders;  and 
if  an  herb  was  good  for  any  of  these,  it  was  often 
considered  good  for  all.  At  the  present  day,  in 
spite  of  the  illuminating  influence  shed  by  Govern- 
ment doctors  and  school  teachers,  the  California 
Indian  preserves  faith  in  his  own  medicine  man,  and 
even  among  the  young  folk,  whom  white  heresies 
have  made  skeptical  of  much  of  the  tribal  tradition, 
the  remedial  ways  of  the  old  people  are  held  in  re- 
spect. As  Manuelito  expressed  it: 

"White  doctor  him  pretty  good  for  colds;  In- 
dian sick  abed,  white  doctor  him  no  good." 

Perhaps  the  most  widely  known  of  California 
plants  used  medicinally  by  the  aborigines,  is  the 
bitter-bark,  wahoo,  or  coffee  berry  of  the  American 
pioneers,  or  the  cascara  sagrada  (sacred  bark)  of 
the  Spanish-Californians — names  given  to  a  vari- 


IN  CALIFORNIA  141 

able  species  of  Rhamnus  occurring  from  Washing- 
ton to  Lower  California.  It  is  the  one  Indian 
remedy  which  the  present  day  pharmacopoeia  en- 
dorses quite  heartily,  furnishing  perhaps  the  best 
laxative  medicine  known  to  the  world.  In  the  north 
it  is  a  tree  reaching  a  height  of  twenty-five  or  thirty 
feet,  but  in  the  south  it  is  reduced  to  a  non-decidu- 
ous shrub,  easily  recognized  in  winter  by  its  persist- 
ent crimson  or  black  berries.  These  are  very  thin 
of  pulp,  and  the  large  olive  green  seeds  (usually 
two)  are  flat  on  one  side  and  convex  on  the  other, 
sufficiently  resembling  grains  of  coffee  to  have  given 
rise  to  one  popular  name.  The  part  used  medici- 
nally is  the  dried  bark,  which  is  steeped  in  water, 
and  is  both  tonic  and  harmlessly  laxative.  Old 
Manuelito  is  very  sure,  however,  that  when  cutting 
the  bark,  you  must  peel  it  downward ;  if  you  cut  it 
upward,  the  effect  will  be  to  make  the  drinker 
vomit ! 

A  hardly  less  famous  medicinal  standby  of  the 
California  Indian,  and  one  which  has  always  had  a 
loyal  white  following,  is  yerba,  santa,  that  is,  holy 
bark — a  species  of  Eriodictyon.  It  is  found  only  in 
California,  a  shrubby  denizen  of  dry,  sunny  hill- 
sides, and  is  marked  by  shiny  dark  green  leaves,  in 
shape  and  appearance  somewhat  like  those  of  the 
peach.  The  foliage  is  covered  with  a  sticky  resin  of 


142       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

balsamic  odor,  and  is  made  into  tea,  or,  when  dried, 
is  smoked  or  chewed  like  tobacco. 

"And  what  disease  is  it  good  for!"  I  ask  Man- 
uelito. 

"Por  todo,  senor — for  every  thing,"  he  says  with 
prodigal  inclusiveness ;  but  every  old  Calif ornian 
will  tell  you  it  is  the  finest  thing  in  the  world  to 
loosen  up  a  hard  cough.  The  taste  of  the  leaf  is 
more  or  less  resinous  and  bitter  at  first,  but  this 
gives  place  to  the  peculiar  sweet  and  cooling  sensa- 
tion which  follows  the  chewing  of  mint  and  a  sip  of 
water.  To  the  wild-flower  lover  one  of  the  mem- 
orable sights  of  a  California  outing  is  furnished  by 
the  thickets  of  yerba  santa  in  bloom — the  violet  or 
lavender  flowers  covering  the  bushes  like  a  gauzy 
veil — gently  undulating  as  the  breeze  sweeps  over 
them.  Another  yerba  of  great  reputation  is  yerba 
mansa  to  be  found  in  the  damp  meadowlands  and 
those  boggy  places  which  Californians  are  disposed 
to  call  "senecas"  (Spanish,  cienagas).  This  is  the 
Anemopsis  Calif  ornica  of  the  botanies,  a  low-grow- 
ing plant  which  from  its  leafage  we  might  guess  to 
be  a  sort  of  dock,  until  in  late  spring  the  flowers  ap- 
pear and  put  another  face  on  the  matter — a  conical 
disk  surrounded  by  a  showy  white  involucre.  The 
inflorescence  is  one  of  Nature 's  make-believes,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  dogwood  bloom — the  showy  white- 


IN  CALIFORNIA  143 

ness  not  being  petals,  as  most  people  think,  but 
simply  petal-like  bracts,  the  true  flowers  being 
packed  together  in  the  central  disk.  The  peppery 
root  is  the  part  most  prized,  and  is  used  in  several 
ways  for  the  relief  of  throat  and  lung  diseases. 
Even  white  doctors  are  inclined  to  think  it  may  be 
of  benefit  in  cases  where  the  mucous  membrane  is 
affected.  The  Spanish  name  by  which  it  is  uni- 
versally known  in  California  means  tame  herb,  and 
one  wonders  how  it  came  by  such  an  inappropriate 
appellation,  for  it  is  not  a  domesticated  plant  but 
a  wild  one.  Perhaps  it  is,  as  Manuelito  says,  that 
the  correct  name  is  not  yerba  mansa  but  yerba  del 
manso,  "the  herb  of  the  tamed  Indian."  The  neo- 
phytes at  the  old  Franciscan  Missions  of  California 
were  called  mansos,  and  it  is  probable  the  white  folk 
learning  through  them  of  the  virtues  of  this  now 
popular  herb,  dubbed  it  accordingly.  Then  there  is 
the  Spanish-Calif ornian's  famous  tonic  and  fever 
remedy,  canchalagua  (Erythraea  venusta),  whose 
pink  stars  abound  amid  the  wild  grasses,  but 
whether  the  Indian  used  this  bitter  plant,  or 
whether  it  was  adopted  by  the  whites  because  of  its 
relation  to  the  bitter  gentian,  I  do  not  know. 

On  the  desert  every  prospector  and  "desert  rat" 
knows  canutillo,  though  he  may  call  it  Chihuahua 
grass,  or  desert  tea,  or  half  a  dozen  other  things. 


144       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

Botanists  will  have  it  that  Ephedra  is  its  only 
proper  name.  It  is  a  leafless  mass  of  green  stalks, 
somewhat  resembling  equisetum  or  horsetail,  and 
in  its  season  bears  queer  little  brown. cones  contain- 
ing black  seeds  of  unbelievable  bitterness.  In  the 
natural  life  of  the  desert  Indian  a  decoction  made 
from  the  green  or  dried  stalks  was  a  sovereign  tonic, 
and  it  is  still  in  such  use  by  redman  and  white. 
Then  there  is  creosote  bush — the  famous  Larrea 
Mexicana  mentioned  by  every  journal-keeping 
pioneer  that  crossed  the  California  deserts  in  pre- 
railroad  days.  " Celebrated  but  totally  useless,"  is 
the  way  the  botanist,  John  Torrey,  handles  it,  "the 
surest  indication  of  a  sterile,  worthless  soil  that  can 
be  found  in  the  vegetable  kingdom." 

We  know  now,  however,  that  the  soil  in  which  it 
grows  is  by  no  means  sterile  or  worthless,  and  if 
Torrey  could  visit  the  desert  to-day  he  would  find 
planted  to  the  fruits  of  civilization  large  areas  for- 
merly given  over  to  the  creosote  bush.  The  new- 
comer on  the  desert  is  pretty  sure  to  notice  this 
shrub,  never  out  of  leaf,  and  bearing  in  its  season  a 
pretty  little  yellow  flower,  to  be  followed  by  seed- 
balls  fuzzy  and  white.  The  shrubs  grow  at  decent 
intervals  from  one  another,  and  look  for  all  the  world 
as  though  they  had  been  carefully  set  out  by  a 
Scotch  gardener,  so  that  the  wastes  of  their  inhabit- 


IN  CALIFORNIA  145 

ing  are  given  a  remarkably  green,  beautiful  and 
cultivated  look.  The  gray  stems,  curiously  banded 
in  black,  are  sometimes  resorted  to  for  fire  wood  by 
campers,  in  default  of  other  material,  and  give  off 
an  offensive  smell  suggesting  creosote,  as  do  the 
small  varnished  leaves.  Old  Manuelito  calls  the 
bush  in  his  Coahuilla-Spanish  patois,  hedeondia 
(stink-bush) ;  but  not  disrespectfully,  for  his  peo- 
ple believe  they  have  found  the  proverbial  heart  of 
good  in  this  thing  of  evil,  and  make  of  the  foliage  a 
famous  bitter  tea.  A  little  sipped  before  breakfast, 
Manuelito  tells  me,  acts  as  a  tonic;  a  little  more  in- 
duces vomiting,  but  this  is  a  relief  to  a  man  some- 
times. Applied  exteriorly  as  a  liniment,  it  is  heal- 
ing for  sores  and  wounds.  It  also  has  virtue  as  a 
remedy  for  colds — in  fact,  is  another  instance  of 
good  "por  todo." 

Down  in  Manuelito 's  sandy  melon  patch  crouches 
a  plant  with  leaves  of  a  sullen,  poisonous  shade  of 
green,  from  out  of  which  rise  wonderful  trumpets 
of  bloom,  purest  white  with  now  and  then  a  blush 
of  purple.  It  looks  and  smells  exceedingly  like  the 
Jimson  weed  of  Atlantic  dumps  and  vacant  city 
lots,  and  is  indeed  its  far  west  cousin,  Datura 
meteloides.  Manuelito  knows  it  well  as  does  every 
Indian  from  Texas  to  the  Pacific.  All  the  South- 
west calls  it  toluache,  and  it  is  virulently  narcotic. 


146       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

A  little  of  its  characteristic  principle  induces  delir- 
ium and  too  much  causes  death.  The  Indians — the 
medicine  men,  especially — formerly  made  consider- 
able use  of  it,  though  at  the  present  day  it  is  very 
generally  avoided.  Old  Manuelito  liked  to  tell 
about  it.  It  seemed  to  bring  back  memories  of  the 
good  old,  wild  old  days. 

"You  eat  little  bit,  muy  poquito,"  he  explained, 
"and  you  go  crazy,  run  around  wild,  all  same  loco. 
Fiesta  come,  people  put  leaf  in  water,  make  little 
tea;  dancers  drink  little  bit,  not  much;  only  men 
drink;  boys  no.  By  and  by,  they  fall  in  fire;  no 
hurt.  Toluache  make  so  you  see  things  nobody  else 
sees.  My  grandfather  him  great  medicine  man. 
Once  there  was  a  man  and  him  die.  Nobody  know 
why.  My  grandfather  him  drink  toluache;  by  and 
by,  see  things  what  make  man  die.  Another  time, 
man  lost  a  burro ;  no  can  find.  My  grandfather 
drink  toluache — not  much,  muy  poquito — see  where 
burro  gone  to.  Man,  him  go  there  and  find  burro. ' ' 

Manuelito  rolled  a  cigarette  meditatively. 

"Toluache  very  deceiving,  too,"  he  went  on. 
"One  time  Manuelito  drink  a  little;  see  all  kind  of 
animals;  no  feel  nothing;  no  heat,  no  cold.  Water 
run  in  ditch,  Manuelito  listen  and  can  hear;  no  can 
see.  Very  deceiving,  toluache. " 

If  there  is  one  kind  of  medical  lore  more  than  an- 


Drinking  from  a  bisnaga  or  barrel  cactus   (Opuntia  Cylin- 
draccus).     Colorado  Desert  of  California 


IN  CALIFORNIA  147 

other  supposed  to  have  been  possessed  by  the  In- 
dians, it  is  that  pertaining  to  the  cure  of  rattlesnake 
bites;  and  wherever  you  travel  in  California,  you 
hear  of  these  Indian  medicines.  Your  hardshell 
scientist  dismisses  them  all  as  valueless,  and  when 
confronted  with  certified  instances  of  recovery  un- 
der Indian  treatment,  puts  up  the  counter-theory 
that  rattlesnake  bites  are  not  necessarily  fatal,  and 
such  cases  would  have  gotten  well  anyhow.  Per- 
haps the  herbs  most  widely  believed  in  to-day  are 
those  called  yerba  de  vibora  (snake  herb) — a  name 
applied  to  two  or  three  species  of  umbellifers — and 
golondrina,  one  or  two  species  of  Euphorbia.  The 
latter  are  small  herbs  with  milky  juice,  prostrate 
and  mat-like,  and  found  in  all  sorts  of  situations 
where  snakes  are  apt  to  be,  from  mountain  top  to 
desert  plain.  In  the  midst  of  the  small,  grayish, 
round  leaves,  are  tiny  twinkling  flowers  surrounded 
with  white  collars.  To  the  eye  of  fancy,  the  plant 
in  color  and  marking  may  suggest  the  hide  of  the 
rattler,  and  as  the  Indian  was,  and  in  his  heart 
doubtless  still  is,  a  believer  in  the  doctrine  of  signa- 
tures— once  generally  accepted  by  white  Galens  of 
repute — it  was  natural  for  him  to  take  the  hint  and 
put  golondrina  on  his  list  of  cures.  A  poultice  was 
mixed  of  the  mashed  leaves  and  bound  on  the  wound, 
while  a  tea  made  from  the  whole  plant,  was  drunk. 


148       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

The   average   Mexican  laborer  believes   in   it   im- 
plicitly. 

Plants  of  the  Weavers  and  the  Basket  Makers 

But  life  is  not  all  feasting  and  going  to  the  doc- 
tor; even  California  Indians  felt  the  advantage  of 
some  sort  of  clothing  and  of  certain  manufactured 
articles  in  their  domestic  economy.  For  their  sim- 
ple needs  in  these  lines  several  wild  plants  have 
been  drawn  upon  for  the  raw  material.  Among 
these  is  the  so-called  Indian  hemp  (Apocynum  can- 
nabinum) — one  of  the  very  few  floral  species  com- 
mon to  both  our  Atlantic  and  Pacific  coasts.  The 
California  Indians  soaked  and  pounded  out  from 
this,  as  well  as  from  species  of  Asclepias,  Agave  and 
Yucca,  valuable  fibers  for  weaving  such  articles  as 
petticoats,  sandals,  saddle  blankets,  ropes,  carrying 
nets,  and  bow  strings.  Collectors  of  Indian  curios 
know  the  charm  of  this  sort  of  aboriginal  work  and 
are  eager  to  secure  it,  but  it  is  now  all  but  obsolete. 
Here  and  there,  however,  among  the  rancherias  of 
mountain  and  desert,  one  finds  old  people  who  prac- 
tise the  ancient  handicrafts,  and  only  the  other  day 
from  fat,  old  Francisco  at  Palm  Springs,  I  got  a 
pair  of  curious  old-fashioned  desert  sandals,  with 
flexible  soles  an  inch  thick  and  corded  tie-strings,  all 
made  from  the  white  fiber  of  the  agave  or  mescal. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  149 

To  the  average  white  person,  however,  the  most 
interesting  handicraft  of  the  California  Indians  is 
their  basketry,  the  one  art  in  which  they  have  ex- 
celled, and  because  of  which  their  reputation  as  art- 
ists is  assured.  While  baskets  are  made  by  many 
tribes  of  Indians  there  are  not  any  that  equal  the 
best  of  Pacific  Coast  workmanship,  notably  those  of 
the  Pomos,  in  Northern  California.  Of  course  every 
Indian  squaw  is  not  capable  of  touching  the  high- 
water  mark  of  perfection  in  her  art,  any  more  than 
every  Caucasian  artist  is  capable  of  being  a  Corot 
or  a  Michael  Angelo.  Nevertheless,  the  making  of 
any  Indian  basket  means  the  possession  of  some  de- 
gree of  artistic  instinct  combined  with  knowledge 
of  plant  life  and  much  patient  industry.  It  is  not 
made  of  just  any  kind  of  grass  on  a  frame  work  of 
just  any  kind  of  twigs,  but  the  materials  must  be 
prepared  from  a  few  selected  sorts  of  plants  which 
long  experience  has  taught  the  Indian  are  the  best. 

At  a  little  southern  rancheria  with  which  I  am 
acquainted,  there  are  three  or  four  old  women  who 
still  practise  this  most  primitive  of  arts.  Their 
work  is  of  the  coiled  kind,  not  woven  as  are  the  bas- 
kets of  the  Pomos,  and  every  summer  at  a  certain 
time  which  they  know  to  be  right,  they,  or  some  of 
the  men  of  their  family,  make  an  excursion  by 
wagon  or  on  horseback,  or  if  need  be  afoot,  to  a  par- 


150       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

ticular  canon  that  they  know  twenty  miles  distant. 
There  a  grass  grows  which  they  use  for  making  the 
coils  of  their  bateas  or  basin-like  baskets.  It  must 
be  this  specific  kind  of  grass,  which  the  Indians  dis- 
tinguish from  others  that  look  like  it  quite  as  cor- 
rectly as  the  trained  botanist  does.  The  latter  calls 
it  Epicampes  rig&ns,  and  it  has  to  be  gathered  at 
a  certain  stage  of  its  ripeness,  neither  too  green  nor 
over-ripe.  There  are  also  certain  plants  (Sueda 
suffrutescens,  for  instance)  which  properly  treated 
produce  the  dye  for  the  coloring  of  the  wrapping 
of  the  coil  that  makes  the  design.  This  wrapping, 
again,  is  a  matter  of  especial  choice.  It  is  made  of 
one  of  two  plants  used  for  the  purpose.  One  is  a 
species  of  sumac  (Rhus  trilobata),  abundant 
throughout  California,  and  so  well  known  for  its 
use  in  this  way  as  to  be  popularly  called  "squaw- 
bush";  and  the  other  is  a  particular  species  of  rush 
(Juncus  robustus),  whose  tall  slender  stem  pos- 
sesses the  unique  quality  of  providing  three  or  four 
colors  in  the  same  piece.  These  materials  must  all 
be  brought  home,  and  in  the  case  of  the  sumac,  the 
bark  must  be  peeled  off  and  the  stem  itself  split  into 
thin  strips.  That  portion  of  the  material  which  is 
to  be  dyed  is  especially  treated — buried  in  mud,  per- 
haps— by  a  process  occupying  sometimes  many  days 
or  weeks,  which  need  not  here  be  gone  into  as  I  am 


IN  CALIFORNIA  151 

not  writing  a  technical  treatise  on  basket  making. 
Then,  when  all  is  ready,  old  Dolores  at  her  wickiup 
and  old  Marta  at  hers,  gather  their  material  about 
them,  and  sitting  on  the  ground  in  the  shade  of  their 
airy  ramadas,  if  the  day  be  hot,  or  in  the  warm  sun- 
shine if  it  be  cold,  proceed  to  build  up  a  basket 
apiece.  Each  little  wisp  of  grass  that  forms  the 
basis  of  a  coil  is  wrapped  closely  with  its  strip  of 
juncus  or  rhus,  as  many  as  twelve  wrappings  to  an 
inch,  and  from  fifty  to  seventy-five  coils  to  the  bas- 
ket. Each  coil  is  fastened  tight  to  the  one  beneath 
by  pushing  a  wrapping-end  through  with  an  awl; 
and  as  the  work  progresses  the  weaver's  mind  is 
busy  with  the  design  which  she  will  work  in  with  the 
dyed  material  on  the  ground  beside  her.  "Shall  I 
make  a  diamond-square  here?"  she  thinks,  "or  will 
it  look  better  without!  Shall  I  do  this  or  shall  I 
do  that?"  In  this  way,  as  momentary  fancy  dic- 
tates, rather  than  from  any  preconceived  idea  of 
weaving  a  story,  does  the  California  desert  Indian 
of  to-day  seem  to  work ;  though  the  designs  are  often 
conventional  symbols  of  natural  phenomena,  re- 
ceived by  daughter  from  mother  and  grandmother, 
out  of  a  remote  past.  The  basket  making  goes  on 
in  intervals  of  other  labor — the  cooking,  the  care  of 
the  children  and  so  on — and  is  laid  down  and  taken 
up  perhaps  a  hundred  times  until  finished. 


152      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

So  you  see  it  takes  some  botanical  knowledge  be- 
sides a  deal  of  time  and  skill  and  patience,  to  pro- 
duce even  a  small  basket.  It  is  no  ignoramus's 
work,  but  an  artist's;  and  if  conscientiously  done,  it 
seems  well  worth  the  price  a  basket  brings,  which 
in  most  cases,  all  counted,  is  at  a  lower  rate  than  we 
p^y  the  man  who  mows  our  lawn  or  carries  out  our 
ashes. 


VII 

THE  SEQUOIA  AND  ITS  ADVENTURES  IN 
SEARCH  OF  A  NAME 

LYING  on  my  desk  are  two  little  cones,  which 
I  like  to  show  my  guests  as  examples  of  the 
old  adage  that  the  best  goods  often  come  in  the 
smallest  packages.  One  is  the  size  of  a  thimble,  the 
other  little  larger  than  a  pigeon's  egg,  and  they  are 
the  seed  cradles  of  those  monarchs  among  trees,  the 
two  species  of  Sequoia.  It  is  a  unique  feature  of 
the  California  forests  that  in  them  this  remarkable 
tree  genus,  which  once  covered  large  areas  not  only 
of  America  but  of  the  world  at  large,  is  making  its 
last  stand.  Fossil  remains  of  former  geologic  ages 
show  that  trees  of  this  tribe  formed  forests  that 
girdled  the  earth  north  of  the  Arctic  Circle  and  ex- 
tended down  into  Europe;  and  it  has  been  thought 
that  the  remarkable  petrified  forests  of  Arizona 
were  largely  made  up  of  a  species  of  Sequoia.  At 
the  present  day  two  vigorous  species  are  found  in 
California  and  none  anywhere  else,  if  we  except  a 
small  area  at  the  northern  border  where  one  spills 
over  for  a  few  miles  into  Oregon. 


154      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

Of  these  species,  that  known  in  scientific  parlance 
as  Sequoia  sempervirens,  is  the  redwood  of  every 
day  speech.  It  forms  more  or  less  pure  forests 
along  the  coast  from  the  neighborhood  of  Monterey 
to  the  Oregon  line,  constituting  a  belt  about  450 
miles  long,  whose  width  is  determined  by  the  reach 
of  the  fogs  that  drift  inland  from  the  Pacific;  for 
fogs  are  the  life  blood  of  the  redwood  forests. 
Never-to-be-forgotten  forests  they  are,  to  any  who 
has  ever  traversed  the  glorious  stretches  of  one,  now 
drenched  and  misty  with  fog,  now  shot  through  with 
descending  shafts  of  light  filtering  down  from  the 
high  leafy  roof  that  even  hides  the  sun.  Here  the 
wild  oxalis  of  the  Coast  spreads  its  fat  leafage  by 
day  and  folds  it  by  night,  and  opens  to  the  passer-by 
rare  bells  of  pink  loveliness;  here  the  wild  ginger 
sheds  its  spicy  fragrance,  its  strange,  spidery  blos- 
soms recumbent  on  the  mold  about  it;  and  here  the 
California  huckleberry, — as  famous  for  its  decora- 
tive red  stems  fringed  with  shiny  little  evergreen 
leaves  extensively  used  in  urban  decoration,  as  for 
its  juicy  fruit — flings  its  luxuriant  branches  hither 
and  yon,  to  the  length  of  six  or  eight  feet.  Here, 
too,  grow  lovely  yellow  violets  of  three  or  four 
species — blue  violets  are  rather  scarce  in  Cali- 
fornia, but  some  of  the  yellow  species  have  a  couple 
of  petals  dashed  with  purple  or  brown,  pansy-like. 


A  coast   live-oak 


IN  CALIFORNIA  155 

Everywhere,  nestling  at  the  redwoods'  feet,  are 
clumps  of  the  graceful  Polystichum  munitum,  or 
swordfern,  which  tourists  often  mistake  for  its  east- 
ern cousin  the  Christmas  fern;  while  over  all  is  the 
hush  of  the  forest,  broken  only  by  the  twitter  of 
birds  and  the  tapping  of  the  wood-pecker — the  car- 
penter, the  Spanish  call  him — boring  holes  in  the 
tree-trunks  to  store  acorns  in,  which  it  is  an  even 
chance  the  rascally  squirrels  will  steal.  Douglas, 
in  his  reports,  speaks  enthusiastically  of  the  red- 
wood as  the  especial  beauty  of  California  vegetation, 
giving  "the  mountains  a  most  peculiar — I  was  go- 
ing to  say,  awful — appearance;  something  that 
plainly  tells  us  that  we  are  not  in  Europe." 

It  was  Sequoia  sempervirens  that  attracted  the 
notice  of  the  first  Spanish  expedition  by  land  in 
California,  as  has  been  told  in  another  chapter,  when 
in  1769  the  explorers  were  in  search  of  the  harbor  of 
Monterey;  but  the  first  trained  botanical  observer 
to  detect  the  tree  and  note  its  features  in  a  scien- 
tific way,  was  Thaddeus  Haenke,  with  Malaspina's 
ships  when  they  touched  at  Monterey  in  1791.  A 
year  later  Menzies  collected  specimens  of  it  at  Santa 
Cruz,  and  it  was  from  these  that  the  English  botan- 
ist Lambert  gave  to  the  world  in  1828  the  first  tech- 
nical description  of  the  tree.  He  believed  it  to  be 
a  Taxodium  or  cypress — a  genus  to  which  the  bald 


156      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

cypress  of  the  Florida  swamps  belongs.  Because 
the  California  tree  was  evergreen  of  leaf,  Lambert 
named  it  Taxodium  sempervirens,  meaning  the  ever- 
verdant  cypress.  This  specific  designation  was 
really  more  appropriate  than  its  namer  knew,  for 
the  wood  of  the  Sequoia  is  about  as  nearly  inde- 
structible as  it  is  possible  for  wood  to  be.  Unlike 
other  coniferous  trees,  the  amount  of  resin  which  it 
contains  is  negligible,  in  fact  almost  nil;  so  that 
the  trees  are  very  slow  to  ignite  and  equally  slow 
to  burn.  They  are  also  remarkably  long-lived  and 
free  from  the  insect  depredations  and  fungous  dis- 
eases which  are  the  bane  of  most  arboreal  life ;  and 
in  the  case  of  the  species  known  as  redwood,  it  fre- 
quently happens  that  when  one  tree  is  cut  down,  a 
score  of  new  trees  spring  into  being  from  buds  of 
the  spreading  root  system — there  is  no  tap  root — 
thus  forming  the  so-called  "redwood  circles,"  fa- 
miliar to  every  one  who  knows  the  tranquil  aisles  of 
a  redwood  forest.  Even  after  fire  has  swept  a  red- 
wood forest,  the  blackened  trunks  will  often  reclothe 
themselves  with  living  green. 

The  value  of  the  redwood  as  timber  is  so  enor- 
mous that  Dr.  W.  L.  Jepson,  whose  sumptuous  work, 
"The  Silva  of  California,"  should  be  consulted  by 
every  one  interested  in  the  native  woods  of  the 
State,  has  well  said:  "California  might  have 


IN  CALIFORNIA  157 

spared  her  gold  mines  but  not  the  resources  of  the 
redwood  belt. "  It  is  from  this  wood  in  conjunction 
with  that  of  the  Douglas  fir  (Pseudotsuga  Doug- 
lasii) — the  Oregon  pine  of  the  lumberman — that  the 
timber  bungalows  which  are  so  characteristic  a  fea- 
ture of  modern  California,  are  constructed — the 
Douglas  fir  supplying  the  frame-work  and  much  of 
the  interior  finish,  and  the  redwood  being  used  for 
the  walls  and  such  parts  as  touch  the  earth.  The 
redwood  is  exceedingly  slow  to  rot,  and  posts  of 
this  material  sunk  in  the  ground  have  been  found 
still  good  after  a  generation,  although  this  extent  of 
durability  is  not  to  be  depended  upon  in  all  cases. 
The  timber  is  remarkable  for  its  straightness  of 
grain,  and  lightness  of  weight.  Curiously  enough, 
its  value  for  building  was  slow  to  be  realized,  and 
the  American  pioneers,  thinking  the  softness  of  the 
wood  made  it  unsuitable  for  building,  not  infre- 
quently imported  timber  at  great  expense  from  the 
East,  bringing  it  around  the  Horn  in  sailing  ves- 
sels. The  traveler  of  to-day  in  out-of-the-way 
places  in  California,  may  still  see  houses  of  timber 
which  made  this  long  voyage,  more  than  half  a  cen- 
tury ago. 

In  matter  of  height  the  redwood  in  its  best  de- 
velopment would  appear  to  exceed  any  other  of  our 
native  trees,  and  specimens  measuring  340  feet,  ac- 


158      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

cording  to  Dr.  Jepson,  are  recorded,  though  the 
average  height  is  probably  not  much  over  200  feet. 
The  enormous  trees  that  are  situated  in  the  famous 
grove  near  Felton  a  few  miles  from  Santa  Cruz  on 
the  railway  line  to  San  Francisco,  and  are  visited 
annually  by  thousands  of  tourists  who  never  regret 
the  stop,  are  redwoods — Sequoia  sempervirens — al- 
though they  are  locally  known  as  Big  Trees.  What 
is  ordinarily  called  the  Big  Tree,  however,  is  the 
redwood's  first  cousin,  Sequoia  gigantea,  the  second 
species  of  this  remarkable,  aristocratic  genus.  It 
is  found  in  isolated  groves  only  on  the  western  slope 
of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  at  an  elevation  of  5,000  to 
8,000  feet  throughout  a  range  of  about  250  miles, 
extending  from  Placer  to  Tulare  County.  The  aver- 
age height  of  living  specimens  is  about  275  feet,  and 
the  diameter  about  20  feet,  a  yard  from  the  base. 
The  maximum  height  given  by  Dr.  Jepson,  is  325 
feet,1  or  a  trifle  less  than  the  tallest  specimens  of 
the  redwood,  but  taken  as  a  class  the  Big  Trees  are 
the  larger,  both  as  to  height  and  girth.  Their  huge 
trunks,  sometimes  thirty  feet  in  diameter  at  the 
butt,  enveloped  in  bark  a  foot  to  a  foot  and  a  half 
thick,  rise  a  clean  hundred  to  two  hundred  feet  to 
the  branches,  and  their  groves  are  among  the  most 

i  This  isjn  the  Calaveras  Grove.  Mr.  E.  H.  Wilson  of  the  Arnold 
Arboretum,  gives  an  estimated  greater  height  to  certain  fallen  trees 
— one  possibly  425  feet. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  159 

humbling  of  nature's  marvels  to  men  not  entirely 
swamped  in  self-conceit.  The  ruthless  iconoclasm, 
however,  that  lays  its  hands  on  the  world's  most 
cherished  traditions  has  not  overlooked  the  reputed 
great  age  of  the  Sequoias,  and  some  latter-day  stu- 
dents of  the  matter  are  inclined  to  put  the  maximum 
age  of  the  Big  Tree  at  only  2,500  years,  instead  of 
double  that  as  has  been  generally  asserted.  To  the 
lover  of  sentiment  whose  heart  is  lifted  up  in  spon- 
taneous worship  in  the  hushed  twilight  of  a  grove 
of  mammoth  Sequoias,  as  in  a  temple  of  the  Lord 
that  was  standing  when  Christ  walked  in  Galilee — 
a  temple  whose  veil  was  never  rent — it  is  a  solace 
to  consider  that  even  at  this  reduced  estimate,  the 
venerable  giants  antedate  the  Christian  era  by  the 
age  of  an  oak  or  two.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  rid- 
dle of  their  age  is  still  unsolved  and  the  estimates 
of  four  or  five  thousand  years,  while  they  may  be 
questioned  by  the  skeptical,  have  by  no  means  been 
disproved.  Guesses  at  tree  ages,  based  upon  ring- 
counting,  are  looked  upon  now  as  less  certain  than 
formerly,  because  of  the  probability  that  under  cer- 
tain circumstances  more  than  one  ring  may  be 
formed  in  a  year. 

The  groves  of  Big  Trees  that  are  most  visited, 
are  an  easily  accessible  scant  half-dozen  in  the 
northern  range,  and  particularly  those  in  the  neigh- 


160      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

borhood  of  the  Yosemite  Valley.  By  far  the  most 
numerous  tracts,  however,  are  found  to  the  south 
in  the  basins  of  the  King's,  Kaweah,  Tule  and  Kern 
Eivers,  in  a  region  of  wild  and  glorious  scenery,  to 
which  a  principal  gateway  is  the  town  of  Visalia  in 
Tulare  County.  Big  Tree  timber  is  very  similar  to 
redwood,  though  of  greater  brittleness — the  huge 
trees  in  falling  are  sometimes  shattered  into  use- 
less fragments,  splinters  and  dust — and  for  a  gen- 
eration extensive  lumbering  operations  have  been 
carried  on  among  the  groves.  Fortunately,  public 
interest  in  the  trees  for  their  own  sake  has  led  to 
the  putting  of  considerable  groves  under  Govern- 
ment ownership,  as  in  the  Yosemite,  Sequoia  and 
General  Grant  National  Parks,  so  ensuring  their 
preservation.  Even  where  the  groves  are  being 
lumbered,  obliteration  does  not  necessarily  follow, 
as  the  tree  reproduces  rather  freely  from  seed,  and 
young  saplings  are  met  with  even  in  areas  where 
fires  of  previous  years  have  wrought  havoc. 
Neither  has  the  protection  of  the  redwood  been 
quite  neglected,  and  near  Santa  Cruz  and  San  Fran- 
cisco there  are  reserves  set  aside  forever  for  public 
enjoyment.2 

3  A  State  reserve  of  3,800  acres  (of  which  2,500  are  timbered)  near 
Boulder  Creek,  Santa  Cruz  County;  and  the  Muir  Woods,  295  acres 
on  the  slope  of  Mount  Tamalpais,  Marin  County — the  latter  reserve 
given  by  Mr.  William  Kent  to  the  nation. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  161 

The  first  white  man  to  see  the  Big  Trees  and  ap- 
preciate their  grandeur,  was  probably  General  John 
Bidwell,  a  famous  character  in  the  American  history 
of  California,  whose  Eancho  Chico,  near  Sacra- 
mento, is  among  the  best  known  in  the  State.  Bid- 
will,  then  a  young  man,  crossed  the  Sierra  Nevada 
with  a  party  of  emigrants  in  1841,  bound  for  Sut- 
ter's  Fort  on  the  Sacramento  Eiver.  It  was  a  cruel 
passage  through  snow  and  brush  and  rocky  wilder- 
ness, but  with  it  all  Bidwell  managed  to  notice  some 
trees  of  dimensions  nothing  less  than  colossal.  As 
he  and  his  half  starved  companions  were  at  the  time 
particularly  interested  in  dodging  Indians  and  find- 
ing the  shortest  cut  to  civilization,  he  could  not  stop 
to  make  observations  of  a  scientific  nature,  but  the 
memory  of  those  arboreal  giants  remained  with  him. 
Two  or  three  years  later,  when  Colonel  Fremont 
stopped  at  Sutter's  on  his  way  south,  Bidwell  told 
him  of  these  remarkable  trees ;  but  Fremont,  doubt- 
less hardened  by  other  "tall  stories,"  gave  this  no 
heed;  so  it  was  reserved  to  others  to  spread  the 
news.  In  1852,  if  we  are  to  accept  the  statement  of 
another  California  pioneer,  James  M.  Hutchings — 
whose  book  "In  the  Heart  of  the  Sierras"  abounds 
in  reminiscences  of  the  Central  California  moun- 
tains in  the  days  of  the  early  American  occupation — 
a  hunter  by  the  name  of  A.  T.  Dowd  accidentally 


162       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

found  himself  in  what  is  now  called  the  Calaveras 
Grove.  The  story  which  he  brought  back  to  camp 
regarding  the  mammoth  plantation  seemed  to  his 
comrades  to  out-munchhausen  Miinchhausen,  and 
they  would  not  believe  it,  although  Dowd  offered  to 
guide  them  to  the  place  to  see  for  themselves.  The 
discoverer,  however,  knew  he  was  the  hero  of  a  real 
romance,  and  not  to  be  cheated  of  his  rightful  glory 
he  resorted  to  stratagem.  One  day  when  he  and  the 
rest  were  hunting  in  company,  he  managed  to  steer 
them  without  notice  into  the  presence  of  the  trees, 
and  the  giants  spoke  for  themselves.  Their  fame 
then  spread  rapidly  and  specimens  of  cones  and  foli- 
age were  despatched  to  Doctors  Gray  and  Torrey 
in  the  East,  for  a  botanical  opinion. 

This  material,  unfortunately,  was  lost  on  the  voy- 
age around  the  Horn;  but  in  the  following  year, 
1853,  a  British  botanist,  William  Lobb,  collecting 
plants  and  seeds  for  an  English  firm  of  nursery- 
men, visited  the  Calaveras  grove  and  secured  speci- 
mens which  he  forwarded  to  England  with  better 
success;  and  Sequoias  started  from  Lobb's  seeds 
are  growing  in  Great  Britain  to-day.  Dr.  Lindley, 
a  botanist  of  London,  after  a  study  of  Lobb's  ma- 
terial, described  the  tree  as  a  new  genus  under  the 
name  of  Wellingtonia  gigantea,  in  honor  of  the  Iron 
Duke  whose  recent  death  made  his  memory  then 


IN  CALIFORNIA  163 

very  fresh  in  the  public  mind.  Subsequent  examina- 
tion convinced  the  French  botanist  Decaisne  that 
the  tree  was  not  a  new  genus  but  merely  a  second 
species  of  redwood,  which  by  that  time  had  been 
transferred  from  the  taxodiums  and  established  as 
a  genus  in  its  own  right,  called  Sequoia.  Decaisne 
accordingly  named  this  Big  Tree,  on  account  of  its 
gigantic  proportions,  Sequoia  gigantea. 

Meantime,  back  in  California,  Dr.  C.  E<  Winslow, 
a  naturalist  of  local  fame,  was  making  a  visit  to  the 
Calaveras  grove.  Consumed  with  national  pride  in 
America's  possession  of  these  biggest  of  big  trees, 
the  good  doctor  considered  it  a  national  disgrace 
that  they  should  bear  an  Englishman's  name,  and 
proceeded  to  make  the  American  eagle  scream  in  a 
letter  dated  August  8, 1854,  and  written  in  the  shade 
of  the  Big  Trees  themselves.  He  despatched  the 
letter  to  a  weekly  paper  called  "The  California 
Farmer,"  in  which  it  was  printed.  After  describ- 
ing in  popular  style  the  characteristics  of  the  spe- 
cies, he  claimed  for  it  as  its  only  proper  designation, 
the  name  of  America's  most  distinguished  son, 
George  Washington.  "If  the  big  tree  be  a  taxo- 
dium,  let  it  be  called  Taxodium  Washingtonianum," 
he  perorates ;  "  if  it  be  properly  ranked  a  new  genus, 
let  it  be  called  until  the  end  of  time,  WasJiingtonia 
Calif  ornica!" 


164      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

This  letter  has  given  botanists  a  lot  of  trouble  to 
decide  what,  in  justice,  the  Big  Tree  should  be  called 
in  scientific  terms.  The  law  of  priority  requires 
that  the  name  given  by  the  first  correct  describer  of 
a  plant  should  be  accepted,  unless  that  name  has  al- 
ready been  used  in  describing  another.  Unfortu- 
nately, it  seems  that  the  name  Sequoia  gigantea  had 
once  been  proposed  for  the  redwood.  This  fact  had 
the  effect  among  nomenclatural  sticklers  of  dis- 
crediting the  same  name  when  given  by  Decaisne  to 
the  Big  Tree,  although  in  the  meantime  the  redwood 
had  come  to  be  called  Sequoia  sempervirens.  As  a 
consequence,  in  the  view  of  orthodoxy,  and  in  ac- 
cordance with  a  description  published  in  1855  by 
one  Seeman,  the  tree  should  be  Sequoia  Welling- 
tonia;  and  so  it  is  called  in  Sargent's  authoritative 
"Silva  of  North  America." 

Dr.  Winslow's  letter,  however,  proposing  Wash- 
ingtonia  Calif ornica,  antedates  Seeman  by  a  year; 
and  had  his  description  been  couched  in  technical 
language  and  published  in  a  botanical  journal,  in- 
stead of  being  merely  a  contribution  to  a  country 
newspaper,  it  would  have  had  an  unquestioned 
standing  at  court,  which  it  now  lacks.  Nevertheless, 
"Winslow  has  some  friends,  among  them  the  den- 
drologist,  G.  B.  Sudworth,  author  of  a  work  on  the 
"Trees  of  the  Pacific  Coast,"  published  by  the 


IN  CALIFORNIA  165 

United  States  Government.  In  it  the  Big  Tree  is 
called  Sequoia  Washingtoniana.  It  is  a  humiliat- 
ing fact  that  this  noblest  of  California  trees  is  really 
without  a  universally  accepted  name  among  the  sci- 
entists of  the  world.  Those  who  place  the  spirit  be- 
fore the  letter  are  content  still  to  call  it  Sequoia 
gigantea,  as  Dr.  Jepson  does  in  his  "Silva  of  Cali- 
fornia"; while  the  adherents  of  the  letter  of  the 
law  continue  at  loggerheads  between  Sequoia  Well- 
ingtonia  and  Sequoia  Washingtoniana.  Meantime, 
the  unlearned,  who  so  often  put  a  touch  of  poetry 
into  the  common  names  of  plants,  have  been  sin- 
gularly barren  of  fancy  in  the  naming  of  this  most 
inspiring  of  native  growths,  and  prosily  call  it  just 
Big  Tree. 

Of  all  the  Big  Tree  groves  the  one  with  perhaps 
the  most  of  human  history  connected  with  it,  is  that 
Calaveras  grove  which  Dowd  discovered,  near  the 
north  fork  of  the  Stanislaus  River  in  Calaveras 
County.  It  is  privately  owned  and  consists  of  about 
a  hundred  trees,  and  a  hotel  and  post  office  near  by 
enable  travelers  to  visit  it  without  leaving  civiliza- 
tion behind  them.  Very  soon  after  the  discovery, 
the  bark — nearly  a  foot  and  a  half  thick — was 
stripped  from  one  tree  for  a  distance  of  thirty  feet 
from  the  ground,  and  exhibited  in  many  places  as  a 
curiosity,  a  part  being  eventually  transported  to 


166      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

England,  where  a  room  was  built  of  it  at  the  famous 
Crystal  Palace  Exhibition.  The  girdling  of  the  tree 
having  caused  it  to  die,  it  was  decided  to  fell  it  and 
manufacture  souvenirs  of  the  wood.  The  tree  was 
thirty  feet  through  at  the  base,  and  upwards  of 
three  hundred  feet  high,  and  to  cut  down  such  an 
arboreal  giant  with  axes  seemed  impracticable,  so 
a  plan  was  conceived  to  bore  it  down  with  pump 
augurs.  This  proceeding  occupied  five  men  twenty 
days.  Even  then  the  work  was  not  completed,  for 
so  squarely  did  the  dissevered  trunk  rest  upon  the 
stump  that  it  refused  to  fall,  and  two  more  days 
were  consumed  in  inserting  wedges  to  break  up  the 
equilibrium.  Then  Nature  took  pity  on  man  and 
one  noon,  while  the  workmen  were  at  dinner,  a  gust 
of  wind  caught  the  crown  and  brought  the  forest 
mammoth  crashing  and  roaring  to  the  ground  with 
a  force  that  caused  the  earth  to  tremble  as  from  an, 
earthquake.  A  count  of  the  rings  showed  an  age 
of  about  1,300  years.  The  fallen  log  was  smoothed 
on  the  upper  side  and  upon  it  a  ten-pin  alley,  eighty- 
one  feet  long,  and  a  barroom  were  constructed. 
Upon  the  stump,  which  measured  twenty-five  feet 
across,  a  pavilion  was  erected,  and  for  a  time  re- 
ligious services  were  held  there  on  Sundays.  On 
weekdays  it  was  used  as  a  dancing  floor,  and  I  be- 
lieve still  so  serves,  though  the  absence  of  "spring'* 


IN  CALIFORNIA  167 

makes  dancing  on  it  rather  tiresome.  Theatrical 
performances  and  concerts  have  also  been  often 
given  upon  this  unique  stage,  and  in  1858  a  newspa- 
per entitled  "The  Big  Tree  Bulletin,"  was  for  a  time 
published  in  the  pavilion. 


VIII 
A  CHAT  ABOUT  CALIFOKNIA  FERNS 

IT  is  somewhat  disappointing  to  the  plant  lover 
in  California  to  find  the  fern  flora  so  meager. 
Throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  this  empire 
of  a  State,  sweeping  as  it  does  from  the  sea's  level 
upward  through  every  sort  of  climate  to  alpine 
heights  of  fourteen  thousand  feet,  and  magnificently 
rich  in  flowering  plants,  there  are  but  half  a  hun- 
dred species  of  ferns.  Of  this  number  fifteen  are 
denizens  only  of  high  mountain  fastnesses  or  arid 
deserts — strange  habitat,  this  last,  for  a  fern — and 
are  thus  outside  the  track  of  the  ordinary  traveler. 
As  many  more  are  so  very  rare  as  to  be  prizes  in 
the  sight  of  the  oldest  botanists.  This  leaves  about 
twenty  species  all  told  that  the  casual  collector  is 
likely  to  come  upon,  and  of  these  a  round  dozen  in- 
cludes all  that  may  be  termed  at  all  common  in  terri- 
tory known  to  the  average  traveler. 

The  reason  of  this  paucity  lies  in  the  fact  that 
ferns  are  a  distinctively  tropical  family,  and  for 
their  best  development  require  a  great  deal  of  mois- 

168 


IN  CALIFORNIA  169 

ture  combined  with  steady  warmth.  California  as 
a  whole,  is  dry  rather  than  moist,  and  the  tempera- 
ture runs  a  scale  of  anywhere  from  twenty  to  forty 
degrees  every  day  in  the  year,  between  dawn  and 
midnight.  It  is  not  surprising,  then,  that  of  all 
the  ferns  which  thrive  in  the  relatively  wet  and 
equable  conditions  of  the  Eastern  summer,  there 
are  but  a  scant  half-dozen  that  find  Calif orniars 
chilly  nights  and  low  midday  humidity  at  all  toler- 
able. Moreover  these  are  by  no  means  frequent. 
They  are  the  common  polypody  (Polypodium  vul- 
gar-e),  which  may  be  found  along  the  northern  coast, 
often  rooted  in  the  damp  crevices  of  the  bark  of  tree 
trunks;  the  five-fingered  maidenhair  (Adiantum  pe- 
datum)  which  occurs  here  and  there  in  the  Sierra 
Nevada  and  in  the  Coast  Eanges  of  Northern  Cali- 
fornia; the  true  maidenhair  of  the  Old  World  and 
the  Atlantic  South  (Adiantum  Capillus-Veneris), 
which  occasionally  finds  wet,  shady  rocks  in  South- 
ern California  to  its  taste ;  the  lady-fern  (Asplenium 
Filix-foemina),  in  mountain  bogs;  and  two  woodsias 
of  the  High  Sierra,  which  occur  also  as  far  east  as 
the  Mississippi  basin.  A  number  of  common  favor- 
ites of  the  East,  such  as  the  several  osmundas,  the 
sensitive  fern,  the  walking  leaf  and  the  sweet- 
scented  dicksonia  of  mountain  pastures,  are  en- 
tirely wanting  on  the  Pacific  coast. 


170       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

There  is  a  familiar  bracken  which  makes  a  luxuri- 
ant, weedy  growth  in  the  sunny  forests  of  much  of 
California,  and  spreads  itself  like  an  angel  of  heal- 
ing over  areas  that  forest  fires  have  blasted.  It 
grows  sometimes,  notably  in  the  north,  to  the  height 
of  six  or  eight  feet  and  takes  such  complete  posses- 
sion of  the  ground  as  to  put  a  bar  to  progress  even 
on  horseback.  While  to  the  non-scientific,  it  seems 
the  same  bracken  as  luxuriates  in  hillside  thickets 
and  dry  fields  throughout  the  East  as  well  as  in 
Europe — the  bracken  of  literature,  of  Tennyson  and 
Sir  Walter — it  is  really  a  distinct  variety,  possess- 
ing a  marked  downiness  of  the  fronds,  which  acts, 
doubtless,  to  retard  evaporation  in  the  dry  atmos- 
phere of  its  far  western  home.  Botanists  call  it 
Pteris  aquilina  lanuginosa — the  downy  brake.  The 
roots  had  some  food  value  in  the  view  of  the  Sierra 
Indians,  and  in  Northern  California  they  are  used 
to  some  extent  in  coarse  basket  work ;  while  the  large 
leathery  fronds,  according  to  Chesnut,  serve  excel- 
lently in  Indian  hands  for  beating  down  grass  fires. 

The  tallness  of  the  bracken  is  rivaled  by  only  one 
other  California  fern,  the  noble  Woodwardia  radi- 
cans,  which  in  situations  to  its  liking,  as  in  the 
depths  of  moist,  shaded  canons  and  in  places  where 
springs  issue,  grows  in  tropical  luxuriance.  It  is 
a  confirmed  buveur  d'  eau,  and  is  always  found  with 


IN  CALIFORNIA  171 

its  feet  in  the  water,  its  great  clustered  fronds  ris- 
ing in  stately  fountains  of  verdure  that  frequently 
exceed  in  height  the  stature  of  the  tallest  man.  To 
those  uninitiated  in  the  ways  of  ferns  it  may  be  said 
that  instead  of  flowers  followed  by  true  seeds,  ferns 
bear  upon  the  backs  or  margins  of  their  fronds  and 
usually  hidden  away  from  sight,  small  collections  of 
minute  dust-like  particles  called  spores,  which  per- 
form the  office  of  seeds  to  reproduce  the  plant.  In 
the  old  days  when  the  doctrine  of  signatures  was 
held  as  religiously  by  the  learned  as  the  germ  theory 
is  to-day,  the  belief  prevailed  that  ferns  had  seed 
but  that  these  were  ordinarily  invisible;  if  found, 
however,  they  would  transfer  to  the  finder  their 
power  of  invisibility.  Saint  John's  Eve,  the  great 
midsummer  festival  of  medieval  Europe,  when 
fairies  were  abroad  and  the  air  was  ripe  for  magic 
rites,  was  a  favorite  time  for  the  quest  of  fern  seed, 
and  the  folk  lore  of  the  Old  World  is  full  of  refer- 
ence to  it.  Shakespeare,  for  instance,  in  "King 
Henry  IV,"  makes  Gadshill  say  in  the  scene  at  the 
innyard  at  Eochester,  "We  have  the  receipt  of  fern- 
seed,  we  walk  invisible." 

In  our  matter-of-fact  time,  we  may  find  "fern- 
seed"  almost  any  day  of  the  year,  by  turning  back 
a  frond  and  examining  the  under  side  through  a 
pocket  lens.  We  are  given  thus  a  glimpse  into  an 


172      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

unsuspected  world,  which  all  our  lives  hitherto,  we 
have  heedlessly  passed  by.  Here  beneath  our 
square  inch  of  magnification,  veins  and  veinlets  run 
in  rare  lines  of  beauty  and  fork  like  highways  of 
travel  pressed  often  by  microscopic  animalcule  feet 
on  business  of  as  great  import  to  their  owners  as  to 
us  is  the  buying  of  a  government  bond  or  the  plac- 
ing of  a  mortgage.  Sometimes  these  fairy  lanes 
traverse  smooth,  green  plains  with  just  enough  in- 
equality to  add  zest  to  the  exercise;  at  other  times 
the  going  is  rough  with  chaffy  scales  that  strew  the 
way  like  jagged  brown  rocks.  Often  there  are  for- 
ests of  hairs  that  rise  under  the  glass  like  tree- 
trunks,  and  chaparral  of  low-lying  woolliness.  In 
such  varied  territory  the  communities  of  tiny  spores 
are  set.  At  times  we  find  them  flat  on  the  leaf  sur- 
face in  little  naked  heaps ;  again  pocketed  at  points 
along  the  edge,  where  the  reflexed  margin  covers 
them  over  as  with  a  flap.  Often  they  are  in  lines 
straight  or  curved,  single  or  double,  snugly  tucked 
away  under  a  membranous  blanket;  again  they  are 
gathered  beneath  the  protection  of  round  umbrella- 
like  covers  upon  which,  from  our  skyey  height,  we 
look  down  as  upon  the  roof  of  some  precisely  con- 
ventional town  where  every  house  is  like  the  others 
and  all  are  placed  at  equal  distances  on  each  side 
of  one  long  avenue.  As  the  arrangement  of  the 


IN  CALIFORNIA  173 

spores  upon  the  frond  varies  so  widely  among  the 
different  kinds  of  ferns  but  is  constant  in  each  sort, 
a  natural  basis  for  the  classification  of  the  order  is 
thus  provided  which  science  long  since  adopted.  In 
the  case  of  the  woodwardias,  the  spore  clusters, 
which  are  longish  and  narrow,  are  sunk  in  cavities 
on  the  under  surface  of  the  leaflets  and  form  inter- 
rupted rows  which  suggest  so  many  little  chains. 
These  furnish  a  ready  means  for  identifying  the 
ferns  of  this  genus,  and  for  this  reason,  they  are 
sometimes  called  chain  ferns. 

The  common  five-fingered  maidenhair  (Adiantum 
pedatum),  the  collection  of  which  is  a  stock  pleas- 
ure with  young  folk  of  all  ages  back  East  when 
they  go  picnicking,  grows  to  the  height  sometimes 
of  two  feet  in  the  moist  Coast  Ranges  of  the  north, 
and  its  glossy  black  stems  are  worked  by  the  In- 
dian women  into  some  weaves  of  baskets,  contribut- 
ing strikingly  to  the  beauty  of  the  design.  More 
frequently  met  with  in  California,  is  another 
maidenhair  never  found  wild  in  the  East,  Adiantum 
emarginatum.  It  is  easily  recognized  as  a  maiden- 
hair by  the  beautifully  polished,  black  stripes  and 
roundish  leaflets,  but  the  fronds  are  without  the 
characteristic  forking  habit  of  the  species  that  East- 
erners best  know.  Mr.  Chesnut  records  that  among 
the  Mendocino  Indians,  the  stems,  which  as  in  the 


174       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

commoner  species  are  smooth  and  black,  used  to  be 
particularly  valued  for  keeping  ear-ring  holes  open 
and  for  increasing  their  size.  On  this  account  the 
fern  bears  a  name  among  those  aborigines  which 
means  "ear-stick  tree."  It  is  the  characteristic 
Pacific  Coast  maidenhair,  and  in  California  is  found 
throughout  the  length  of  the  State.  It  loves  the 
cool  dampness  of  shady  banks  in  canons,  and  clus- 
ters about  the  bases  of  rocks  in  mountain  woods 
principally  near  the  coast  and  always  at  low  alti- 
tudes; but  it  is  something  of  an  adventurer,  too, 
occasionally  exploring  the  brushy  recesses  of  hill- 
side chaparral  that  once  were  moist,  and  has  been 
found  even  in  the  desert  region  in  locations  where 
shade  and  some  moisture  obtain. 

The  discovery  of  certain  ferns  happily  living 
along  in  the  desert's  rocky  wastes  is  one  of  the  sur- 
prises that  await  the  plant  lover  in  California ;  but 
so  far  as  my  own  observation  goes,  such  ferns  all 
like  their  bit  of  shade,  diving  into  the  darkling 
crevices  of  boulders  or  burrowing  about  the  edges 
where  rock  meets  earth.  In  such  situations,  fur- 
thermore, they  get  what  dampness  there  may  be  lin- 
gering after  the  scant  rainfall  of  the  winter  is  over 
and  gone.  The  typical  desert  species  of  my  meet- 
ing are  two  cloak-ferns  (Notholaena  Parryi  and  N. 
cretacea],  and  the  sticky  lip-fern  (Cheilanthes  vis- 


IN  CALIFORNIA  175 

cida}.  They  are  small  plants,  a  few  inches  high, 
growing  in  bunches  as  though  in  union  there  were 
strength  to  resist  the  assaults  of  the  desert  droughti- 
ness,  and  after  the  manner  of  desert  plants  they 
have  put  on  special  armor  for  the  occasion.  In  the 
case  of  Notholaena  Parryi,  this  consists  of  a  tangle 
of  white  hairs  covering  the  upper  side  of  the  leaflets, 
and  a  denser  brown  tangle  of  woolliness  covering 
the  surface  beneath.  The  other  two  species  prefer 
powder  and  sticky  glands.  All  these  equipments 
serve  the  same  purpose  of  reducing  the  evaporation 
of  the  plant's  small  stock  of  hard-gathered  moisture 
in  th'at  land  of  little  rain.  There  is  another  Noth- 
olaena which  the  rambler  among  the  foot  hills  of 
Southern  California,  is  pretty  sure  to  encounter 
growing  in  the  crevices  of  dry  shady  boulders,  and 
popularly  known  as  the  cotton-fern.  Its  clustered 
fronds,  which  are  four  or  five  inches  long,  with 
blackish  stipes  of  about  the  same  length,  are  thickly 
covered  above  and  below  with  cottony  white  hairs, 
which  are  a  marked  characteristic  of  the  species,  and 
have  given  rise  to  the  common  name. 

At  the  desert's  edge  grows  one  of  the  rarest  ferns 
in  the  world,  unknown  to  science  until  1881  when  it 
was  discovered  by  Mr.  S.  B.  Parish  in  Andreas 
Canon,  a  gorge  in  the  eastern  steeps  of  Mount  San 
Jacinto  opening  to  the  Colorado  Desert,  near  Palm 


176      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

Springs.  A  rough,  rocky  trail  leads  from  the  desert 
into  this  canon,  anything  but  pleasant  traveling  to 
the  footman  who  struggles  along  it  plucked  at  by 
cat's-claw  acacia,  stabbed  by  cactus  spines  and 
startled  now  and  then  by  the  sudden  springing  of 
some  equally  frightened  rattlesnake's  insistent  clat- 
ter close  to  his  feet.  Conditions  improve,  however, 
after  the  canon  is  well  entered,  and  at  about  two 
miles  from  the  mouth  you  reach  a  narrowing  gorge, 
where  a  single  Washingtonia  palm  makes  a  land- 
mark known  to  every  frequenter  of  the  region.  It 
was  just  above  this  gorge,  on  the  left  bank  of  the 
stream  which  there  flows  musically  in  a  brushy 
thicket,  that  Mr.  Parish  one  March  day  picked  a 
few  specimens  of  a  fern  that  no  one  had  ever 
gathered  before,  and  it  was  subsequently  named  in 
his  honor,  Cheilanthes  Parishii.  In  those  days,  a 
generation  ago,  when  California  was  still  a  good 
deal  of  a  terra  incognita,  there  was  nothing  very 
remarkable  in  turning  up  an  undescribed  plant  or 
two;  but  the  noteworthy  thing  about  the  finding  of 
that  little  fern  is  that  for  twenty-seven  years  after- 
wards, nobody,  not  even  the  discoverer  himself  who 
visited  the  identical  spot  a  year  later,  could  find  an- 
other specimen,  either  in  Andreas  canon  or  any- 
where else.  The  quest  for  Cheilanthes  Parishii  be- 
came as  baffling  as  the  search  for  the  lost  mines 


IN  CALIFORNIA  177 

that  are  the  will-o'-the-wisps  of  desert  prospectors. 
In  March  1908,  however,  the  present  writer,  camp- 
ing with  his  wife  in  the  same  canon  just  below  the 
gorge  of  the  Lone  Palm  and  having  no  thought  of 
this  fern  of  whose  history  he  was  then  ignorant, 
climbed  one  day  down  a  dim  trail  to  the  stream  for 
a  canteen  of  water.  As  he  climbed  back  again  he 
plucked  from  a  crevice  in  a  rock,  in  passing,  a  few 
fronds  of  a  solitary  fern  plant  that  struck  him 
as  something  strange.  Subsequent  examination 
proved  the  plant  to  be  the  long-sought  Cheilanthes 
Parishii!  But  the  old  fatality  still  clings  to  it. 
Though  I  visited  the  place  again  and  searched  the 
canon  side  over  and  over,  no  faintest  sign  of  this 
elusive  fern  could  be  found.  To  discover  it  seems 
to  be  reserved  to  but  one  man  at  a  time  and  but  once 
in  his  lifetime.  Who  the  next  will  be,  having  a 
receipt  for  this  fern's  seed,  quien  sdbe? 

The  genus  Cheilanthes,  sparingly  represented  in 
the  East,  is  a  somewhat  common  one  in  California 
where  ten  species,  all  distinct  from  the  eastern,  have 
been  reported.  Of  these  there  are  two,  Cheilanthes 
fibrillosa  and  C.  amcena,  even  rarer  than  Cheilanthes 
Parishii,  for  each  has  been  collected  but  once. 
In  this  genus  the  spore  cases  form  about  the  mar- 
gin of  the  leaflets  roundish  dots  which  are  covered 
by  the  turning  back  of  the  lobes  or  their  segments, 


178      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

like  so  many  lips,  for  which  reason  the  plant  is  often 
called  lip-fern,  a  loose  translation  of  its  Greek  bo- 
tanical name.  In  many  species  the  spore-bearing 
segments  are  rolled  up  like  tiny  green  beads  which 
form,  when  present,  a  striking  character  by  which 
to  identify  ferns  of  this  genus.  A  very  charming 
member  of  this  family,  not  uncommon  in  the  coast 
mountains  particularly  in  the  South,  is  that  popu- 
larly known  as  lace  fern  (Cheilanthes  Calif  ornica). 
It  is  a  delicate  little  plant,  whose  finely  divided 
leafage  is  well  described  by  the  common  name,  and 
there  is  none  that  is  more  eagerly  sought  by  plant- 
collecting  amateurs  in  their  mountain  outings.  It 
is  to  be  looked  for  in  crevices  of  shady  rocks  or 
about  the  bases  of  cliffs  in  mountain  woodlands. 

Many  ferns  occurring  on  the  Pacific  Coast  from 
the  vicinity  of  San  Francisco  northward,  were  made 
known  to  the  world  through  the  collections  of  that 
Adalbert  von  Chamisso,  to  whom  we  owe  the  dis- 
covery of  the  California  poppy.  Among  these  is 
one  that  is  known  and  loved  by  everybody  who  has 
rambled  and  day-dreamed  in  the  California  redwood 
forests,  and  which  goes  popularly  by  the  name  of 
sword  fern.  It  belongs  to  a  tribe  that  has  been  for 
many  years  a  battle  ground  with  botanical  nomen- 
claturists,  and  it  is  variously  listed  in  the  books  as 
Aspidium  munitum,  Dryopteris  munita,  and  Poly- 


IN  CALIFORNIA  179 

stichum  munitum.  It  is  for  the  reader  to  take  his 
choice.  The  resemblance  of  the  plant  to  the  well- 
known  Christmas  fern  (Aspidium  acrostichoides) , 
of  the  East,  used  extensively  by  florists  there  for 
winter  greenery,  makes  it  easily  recognizable.  It 
has  a  marked  preference  for  slopes  to  grow  on,  and 
it  is  on  stony  mountain  sides  under  the  shadow  of 
oaks  or  conifers,  at  altitudes  up  to  five  thousand 
feet,  that  one  usually  comes  upon  it.  In  the  red- 
wood forests,  when  it  finds  itself  in  some  nook  where 
a  happy  combination  of  moisture,  shade  and  soil 
makes  an  ideal  dwelling  place  for  it,  it  has  been  re- 
ported to  attain  a  height  of  five  feet.  That  is  ex- 
ceptional, however;  more  often,  the  fronds  do  not 
exceed  two  or  three  feet  including  the  stipe.  Pro- 
fessor Daniel  C.  Eaton,  author  of  "Ferns  of  North 
America,"  has  suggested  as  a  common  name 
"Chamisso's  Shield-fern,"  in  commemoration  of 
its  discoverer,  which,  if  common  names  came  by  ex- 
pert suggestion,  would  be  a  very  sensible  one. 
Shield-fern  is  because  of  the  round,  shield-like  cov- 
ering that  protects  the  spore  dots,  and  which  any 
one  can  see  by  turning  over  the  tip  of  a  frond.  Fre- 
quently associated  with  Chamisso's  Shield-fern  is 
another,  Aspidium  rigidum  argutum,  the  fronds 
thinner  in  texture  and  rather  triangular  in  outline. 
In  the  home  remedies  of  the  Spanish-Californians, 


180      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

this  fern  had  an  important  place,  and  was  called 
la  yerba  del  golpe — "the  herb  of  the  blow."  Ac- 
cording to  Ida  M.  Blochman,  who  recorded  in 
Erythea  some  twenty  years  ago  many  interesting 
uses  of  native  plants  among  the  Californians,  a  de- 
coction was  made  from  the  roots,  and  applied  warm 
to  bruises,  to  relieve  pain  and  reduce  discoloration. 
Quite  as  common  is  another  of  von  Chamisso's 
discoveries,  the  California  polypody  (Polypodium 
Calif ornicum) — a  brighter,  rather  larger  and  dis- 
tinctly more  papery  species  than  the  cosmopolitan 
Polypodium  vulgare  which  is  the  common  polypody 
of  the  East.  The  Californian  is  a  graceful,  hand- 
some fern,  particularly  upon  its  fresh  uncoiling  in 
the  woods  of  the  early  year.  It  is  less  abundant  in 
the  north  than  in  the  south,  and  even  extends  into 
Lower  California.  Chesnut  found  it  clothing  mossy 
logs  and  banks  in  deep  canons  of  Mendocino  County, 
where  the  Indians  used  its  root  medicinally,  bruis- 
ing it  and  applying  it  to  the  body  for  the  healing  of 
sores  and  for  rheumatism.  An  extract  of  the  root 
was  also  used  for  sore  eyes.1  In  the  mythology  of 

iDo  you  smile  at  the  Indian  simplicity?  Our  own  enlightened 
face  in  former  times  had  a  fancy  to  make  medicine  of  ferns.  The 
roots  of  Polypodium  vulgare  had  once  a  great  vogue  among  the  doc- 
tors from  the  day  of  Dioscorides  to  quite  recent  years,  being  admin- 
istered for  a  variety  of  complaints,  dropsy,  melancholia,  taenia, 
asthma  and  what  not,  as  the  fashion  in  medicine  changed;  and  there 
are  doubtless  people  still  living^  who  remember  the  undisputed  re- 


IN  CALIFORNIA  181 

the  Wailaki — one  of  the  tribes  of  that  region — this 
fern,  the  same  authority  states,  plays  a  pleasant 
part.  Its  fronds  are  deeply  divided  into  finger-like 
lobes,  and  the  coyote,  which  all  Indians  regard  as 
the  shrewdest  of  animals,  did  not  fail  to  observe 
this  peculiarity,  and  with  an  inventive  genius 
worthy  of  New  England,  to  turn  it  to  account.  Kun- 
ning  in  and  out  and  upward  along  the  fingers,  he 
made  use  of  the  frond  as  a  counter  to  teach  the  ele- 
ments of  arithmetic  to  the  little  coyotes!  Either 
coyotes  were  smaller  in  that  primeval  day  or  ferns 
larger,  for  a  polypody  a  foot  high  is  nowadays  es- 
teemed a  large  specimen. 

Two  wiry  ferns,  both  peculiar  to  California,  that 
are  among  the  first  which  the  amateur  discovers, 
are  the  so-called  coffee  fern  and  the  bird-foot  fern. 
The  march  of  civilization  seems  to  have  disturbed 
these  wildings  rather  less  than  most  native  ferns, 
and  one  finds  them  on  every  sunny,  rocky  slope  and 
in  sandy  washes,  hiding  in  the  shelter  of  bushes  or 
any  tangle  of  miscellaneous  shrubby  growth.  They 
enjoy  a  little  shade  but  not  too  much.  Like  the 
desert  species  already  referred  to,  they  have  learned 
the  pleasures  of  a  dessicated  life,  and  as  the  dry 
season  progresses,  their  little  skins  become  as  tough 

medial  virtues  of  capillaire,  a  syrup  prepared  from  the  juice  of 
maidenhair  fern  fronds. 


182      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

and  hardened  as  that  of  any  human  rancher  or 
'  *  desert  rat. ' '  The  coffee  fern,  indeed,  where  shade 
is  scarce,  takes  on  a  reddish  hue,  as  though  sun- 
burned. Both  are  species  of  the  genus  which  bot- 
anists call  Pellaea,  and  may  be  identified  by  the 
manner  in  which  their  spore  cases  form  a  more  or 
less  confluent  line  along  the  edge  of  the  frond  di- 
visions, like  a  raised  binding  cord.  The  fronds  are 
many  times  divided.  The  leaflets  in  the  case  of  the 
coffee-fern  (Pellaea  andromedaefolia) ,  are  about 
the  size  and  shape  of  a  flattened  grain  of  coffee, 
the  fancied  resemblance  to  which,  particularly  in 
the  brown  days  of  summer,  has  given  rise  to  the 
common  name.  In  the  bird-foot  fern  (Pellaea  orni- 
thopus),  the  ultimate  divisions  are  small  and  sharp- 
pointed,  arranged  curiously  upon  the  stem  in  pairs 
of  three  each,  that  form  such  a  striking  resemblance 
to  the  three  spreading  toes  of  tiny  birds'  feet,  that 
it  was  not  in  human  nature  to  resist  dubbing  the 
fern  by  the  common  name  it  bears  in  witness  of  that 
marked  peculiarity. 

But  after  all,  the  fern  which  is  nearest  to  most 
Calif  ornians'  hearts  is  the  famous  gold-back  fern — 
the  Gymnogramme  triangularis  of  the  botanists.  It, 
too,  is  one  of  von  Chamisso  's  discoveries  on  the  fa- 
mous voyage  of  the  Rurik,  and  is  a  common  fern 
from  the  southern  tip  of  the  Lower  California 


IN  CALIFORNIA  183 

peninsula  to  British  Columbia.  The  fronds  are 
rather  leathery  in  texture,  triangular  in  outline,  and 
produced  at  the  tip  of  clumps  of  chestnut-brown, 
glossy  stipes,  and  are  remarkable  for  the  golden 
dust  which  abundantly  covers  the  underside  of  the 
fronds.  Of  all  the  filical  fellowship,  the  gold-back 
is  the  children's  fern,  taking  its  place  in  the  list  of 
childhood  favorites  along  with  such  cherished 
flowers,  for  instance,  as  the  buttercup,  unfailing  test 
of  butter  loving,  and  the  daisy  the  census  of  whose 
rays  reveals  your  infantile  loves.  The  reason  of 
the  gold-fern's  popularity  is  this:  you  break  off  a 
frond  and  press  it  firmly  and  evenly  against  your 
trousers'  leg  or  your  sister's  white  waist,  and  there, 
upon  removing  it,  is  the  golden  imprint  of  the  fern 
decorating  that  piece  of  clothing.  Could  any  pas- 
time be  more  fascinating?  In  some  cases  the  pow- 
der is  white  instead  of  yellow,  and  that  form  is  pop- 
ularly distinguished  by  the  name  of  silverback. 
Botanists,  however,  find  no  essential  difference  be- 
tween the  two  sorts.  The  powder  is  an  exudation 
doubtless  designed  to  help  the  plant  to  exist  under 
the  dryish  conditions  which  it  seems  to  enjoy— or 
which  at  any  rate  it  has  to  endure — for  sometimes  it 
is  found  growing  at  the  desert's  edge.  With  the 
advent  of  the  dry  season,  the  fronds  roll  themselves 
up  into  little  yellow  and  white  fists,  the  powdered 


184      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

surface  being  always  turned  outward.  In  such  dis- 
creet fashion,  exposing  as  little  of  themselves  as 
may  be,  they  weather  it  out  until  the  rains  come 
again,  when  they  expand  and  freshen  up  in  the 
descending  drops  with  that  cheerfulness  and  irre- 
pressible enjoyment  of  the  wet  that  only  dwellers 
in  a  dry  land  can  know. 

For  descriptions  of  the  California  ferns  in  the  exact  language 
of  science,  readers  are  referred  to  "Our  Native  Ferns  and  Their 
Allies,"  by  Lucien  M.  Underwood.  An  interesting  paper  entitled 
"The  Fern  Flora  of  California,"  by  S.  B.  Parish,  printed  in  The  Fern 
Bulletin  for  January,  1904,  gives  a  complete  list  of  species  with  their 
distribution  in  the  State.  Hall's  "A  Yosemite  Flora"  contains  de- 
scriptions and  illustrations  of  many  of  the  Sierra  ferns. 


IX 

GARDENS  OF  THE  SPANISH-CALIFORNIANS 

SHE  was  a  pleasant-looking  little  old  lady,  her 
withered  cheeks  aglow  from  exercise,  as  she 
dug  energetically  in  a  sunny  bed  of  gilly  flowers  one 
spring  morning,  and  I  could  not  forbear  stopping  to 
have  a  chat  with  her  about  them.  In  fact  I  had  been 
told  at  the  hotel  of  the  little  half-Spanish  village 
that  if  I  wanted  to  know  anything  about  the  old 
time  California  flowers,  Dona  Margarita  was  the 
one  to  tell  me. 

At  Dona  Margarita's 

1 '  She  was  born  when  California  was  still  a  Mexi- 
can province,"  mine  host  at  the  inn  had  said,  "and 
has  lived  here  all  her  life.  She  is  none  of  your 
Sonorenas  [Mexican  peons  from  Sonora]  but  real 
Spanish  on  both  sides  of  the  house.  There  are  a 
few  such  still  in  the  State,  not  of  the  Castilian  sangre 
azul  the  newspaper  writers  are  fond  of  attributing 
to  them,  but  more  honest,  I  guess — descended  from 
sturdy  peasant  stock  who  went  for  soldiers  and 

185 


186      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

sailors,  and  some  of  whom  for  their  service  to  the 
Spanish  king  were  paid  off  a  century  or  so  ago  in 
grants  of  land.  Why,  Dona  Margarita's  father,  old 
Don  Miguel,  owned  three  leagues  square  on  the  out- 
skirts of  Los  Angeles,  and  if  he  could  have  held  on 
to  it  her  family  would  have  been  millionaires ;  but, 
Lord,  it  all  went  long  ago  for  interest  and  taxes, 
and  to-day  the  old  lady  only  owns  her  adobe  and  a 
few  sticks  of  furniture." 

After  a  little  preliminary  shyness  and  indisposi- 
tion to  talk  anything  but  Spanish,  which  I  under- 
stood but  imperfectly  and  spoke  worse,  Dona  Mar- 
garita's innate  hospitality  took  command  of  her  and 
she  dropped  into  English  and  cordially  invited  me 
in.  It  was  an  unkempt  bit  of  garden,  without  grace 
of  arrangement,  but  amazingly  full  of  flowers  rem- 
iniscent of  the  olden  time. 

"Yes,  senor,"  said  the  little  old  lady,  "it  is  al- 
ways las  flores  de  antes — the  old  time  flowers — that 
grow  best  for  me ;  the  new  kind,  I  don 't  know  why, 
but  they  do  not  grow.  Now  this ' ' — and  we  stopped 
before  a  robust  rose  bush,  rather  coarse  of  leaf, 
bearing  tousled  pink  blooms  that  were  very  fra- 
grant, such  an  old,  old-fashioned  rose  as  modern 
gardens  with  their  dapper  French  aristocrats  would 
not  tolerate — "now  this  is  the  Castilian  rose,  la 
rosa  de  Castilla.  In  old  times  this  was  the  most 


IN  CALIFORNIA  187 

favorite  of  roses,  and  was  in  all  gardens.  Some- 
times it  bloomed  white,  too;  and  in  winter,  when 
the  weather  was  mild,  it  would  bloom  again — and 
so  sweet  to  smell.  This  was  the  rose  that  was  planted 
in  all  gardens  when  I  was  a  little  girl;  and  when 
the  Americans  found  out  how  good  a  land  is  Cali- 
fornia to  live  in  and  came  and  settled  they  found  it 
blooming  everywhere — la  rosa  de  Castilla.  And  it 
was  good  for  medicine,  too.  We  made  a  wash  from 
it  for  bad  eyes,  and  a  salve  for  the  hands  when  the 
skin  was  sore. ' ' 1 

"And  my  gillyflowers — you  like  them?  All  the 
old  gardens  had  them — alelilla,  we  call  them.  And 
the  malvas" — so  she  called  the  geraniums.  Did 
you  ever  notice  how  like  mallow  leaves  their  foliage 
is!  and  malva  means  mallow.  "There  are  many 
malvas.  There  is  malva  luisa.  Then  there  is 
malva  real,  a  little  tree,  like.  And  this  pretty  bush 
is  another,  malva  rosa." 

It  was  a  twisted  little  shrub  with  maple-like 
leaves  and  flowers  suggesting  single  red  roses. 
Once  I  had  seen  it  growing  wild  on  Santa  Catalina 
Island  and  knew  it  as  Lavatera  assurgentiflora.  It 

i  Through  the  kindness  of  Professor  C.  S.  Sargent,  to  whom  a  speci- 
men of  this  rose  was  sent,  it  has  been  identified  as  Rosa  gallica,  a 
species  of  many  forms  cultivated  in  Europe  for  centuries.  It  is  in 
the  same  class  with  the  famous  Damask  rose  of  our  grandmothers' 
gardens  everywhere. 


188      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

is  common  in  old  California  gardens,  and  was  for- 
merly extensively  planted  for  windbreaks  about  the 
Orientals'  market  gardens  near  San  Francisco. 

"Some  say  the  Franciscan  fathers  planted  the 
first  seeds  of  malva  rosa  in  California,  because  it 
grew  in  Spain  and  they  loved  to  have  in  the  Mis- 
sion gardens  the  plants  that  reminded  them  of  home, 
for  they  must  often  have  been  lonesome  here  in  the 
wilderness,  the  poor  padres.  But  other  people  say, 
no ;  it  did  not  come  from  Spain,  but  from  the  islands 
near  Santa  Barbara  and  it  grows  wild  there.  So  I 
do  not  know  how  the  truth  of  it  may  be;  but  it  is 
here  now  and  a  pretty  flower,  no?" 

And  here  in  our  ramble  we  came  to  a  row  of  callas 
unwinding  their  lovely  horns  of  snowy  purity.  The 
Spanish  genius  for  graphic  and  picturesque  nomen- 
clature is  strikingly  illustrated  in  the  word  which 
Dona  Margarita  gave  me  for  this  coddling  of  east- 
ern greenhouses,  but  which  often  runs  wild  in  Cali- 
fornia. 

"Corneta,  we  call  it,"  she  said,  "a  music  horn 
as  you  say  in  English.  It  is  nice  flowers,  I  think, 
and  always  the  gardens  have  them  to  decorate  the 
altar  at  the  church.  Often  in  the  cienagas  they 
grow  wild,  too,  and  I  mind  a  place  near  San  Gabriel 
where  they  one  time  grew  along  a  zanja — an  irriga- 
tion ditch,  you  know — for  the  longest  distance,  just 


IN  CALIFORNIA  189 

wild,  because  they  liked  the  water  so  well.  And 
here  I  have  other  lilies — this  is  lirio  de  Maria,  the 
lily  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  I  think  you  call  it  An- 
nunciation lily;  and  these  other  lirios  are  pretty, 
too — iris,  you  say,  no?  But  best  of  all,  I  love  my 
Flor  de  San  Jose.  You  say  hollyhock — we  say 
Flor  de  San  Jose — Saint  Joseph's  flower;  or  some- 
times Saint  Joseph's  staff — la  Barra  de  San  Jose — 
there's  so  many  words  in  Spanish!" — and  the  old 
lady  smiled  apologetically  for  her  voluminous  lan- 
guage. ''Perhaps  you  are  Catholic  and  know  why 
Saint  Joseph's  flower?  No?  Once  the  padre  at  the 
church,  he  told  me  why.  When  it  was  that  a  hus- 
band should  be  chosen  for  the  Blessed  Virgin,  the 
young  men  that  were  of  her  kindred  were  sent  for, 
and  they  came  at  the  set  time,  each  with  his  staff  in 
his  hand,  which  was  the  way  of  travelers  in  those 
days;  and  it  was  that  the  man  whose  staff  should 
break  into  bloom,  should  be  the  husband.  And  sure 
enough,  Saint  Joseph's  staff,  it  budded  and  beauti- 
ful flowers  came  on  it  like  roses  all  up  and  down  the 
stem,  just  as  you  see  in  the  hollyhocks,  and  so  we 
call  them  Flores  de  San  Jose.  They  are  de  muy 
antes — very,  very  old.  All  the  gardens  had  them — 
even  my  grandmother's." 

By  the  gate  bloomed  a  white  oleander,  not  in  a 
tub,  however,  to  be  taken  indoors  with  the  coming 


190       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

of  autumn,  but  rooted  in  the  ground  of  this  pleasant 
land  where  no  frost  hard  enough  to  kill  it  comes. 

"Laurel,"  said  Dona  Margarita,  but  she  pro- 
nounced it  low-rel';  and  indeed  its  leaf  is  laurel- 
like.  "This  grew  from  a  tree  that  was  in  the  gar- 
den of  the  great  governor  of  California,  Don  Pio 
Pico.  He  gave  me  a  cutting." 

A  bed  of  poppies — dormideras,  or  sleepers,  in 
Spanish — were  wide  awake  in  the  sun,  hobnobbing 
with  sprawling  nasturtiums  flaunting  in  their  flow- 
ers the  yellow  and  red  of  old  Spain.  These  the  little 
lady  called  mastuerzos,  while  her  cheerful  mari- 
golds which  had  bloomed  steadily  through  the  win- 
ter, masqueraded  under  a  name  that  sounded  like 
sampasuches.  Her  chrysanthemum  plants  just 
started  into  vigorous  growth  had,  in  her  speech,  a 
more  understandable  name — octubres,  or  as  we 
should  say,  Octobers.  And  there  were  pinks,  cla- 
veles. 

"You  know  this  pretty  flower,*'  she  said,  pluck- 
ing me  a  blue  larkspur ;"  to  us  it  is  another  sort  of 
spur,  espuela  de  caballero — the  horseman's  spur." 

And  so  we  came  to  a  little  corner  where  kitchen 
and  medicinal  herbs,  sweet  and  bitter,  were  grow- 
ing, and  Dona  Margarita  stooped  to  pass  a  loving 
hand  across  their  fragrant  tops.  Then  she  smiled, 


IN  CALIFORNIA  191 

and  Spanish-like  broke  into  a  rhyming  dicho,  or 
proverb  of  her  people : 

"De  medico,  poeta  y  loco,  todos  tenemos  un  poco? 
Here's  romero,  or  rosemary  you  call  it,  it's  good  for 
bruises;  and  ajedrea — that's  thyme,  no? — to  put 
with  chili  into  the  stew ;  and  yerloa  buena,  the  mint, 
the  good  herb  that  everybody  knows ;  and  this  with 
blue-green  leaves  is  ruda.  You  say  rue,  no? 
That's  so  good  for  ear-ache,  my  mother  taught  me 
to  use  it.  Just  warm  the  leaves  on  the  stove,  roll 
them  in  cotton  and  put  in  the  ear.  It  is  a  famous 
cure  de  muy  antes — all  the  old  gardens  had  it.  And 
this,  I  don't  know  how  you  call  it  in  English?  It 
grows  wild  in  the  sierra,  but  it  grows  in  the  garden, 
too ;  and  we  call  it  oreja  de  liebre,  that  means  rab- 
bit's ear;  it's  gray  and  fuzzy  like  one.  It  is  very 
good  to  make  a  tea  from  the  leaves  for  a  fever,  or 
to  bathe  bruises." 

1  recognized  the  plant  as  the  California  golden- 
rod — Solidago  Calif ornica.    In  Linnaeus 's  day  the 
European  goldenrod  had  great  repute  as  a  curative, 
and  because  of  this  he  named  the  genus  Solidago, 
"to  make  whole."     There  was  a  flavor  of  romance 
in  finding  that  Old  World  fame  of  the  plant  persist- 
ing here  in  this  far  corner  of  the  New  World. 

2  "Of  doctor,  poet  and  madman,  we  all  have  a  little." 


192      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

After  all,  the  world  is  one  family  and  as  Dona 
Margarita's  wicket  clicked  behind  me,  I  had  the 
feeling  that  my  own  Pennsylvania  and  Virginia 
grandmothers  would  have  been  quite  at  home  among 
the  tangled  posy  beds  of  this  daughter  of  Spanish 
California. 

Old  Mission  Gardens  and  Ranch  Patios 

Dona  Margarita's  tangled  little  garden  is  a  type 
of  many  in  the  Spanish  sections  of  California, 
pleasantly  reminiscent  of  earlier  days,  like  the 
tumbled  garret  of  an  old  country  house;  but  be- 
cause of  their  informality  and  modest  proportions 
visible  to  every  passerby,  they  fail  to  measure  up  to 
the  romance  with  which  in  our  minds  old  California 
is  invested.  We  have  read  "Ramona"  and  we  de- 
mand the  privacy  of  the  retired  garden  around 
which  the  house  has  been  built;  we  long  for  the 
tinkling  of  guitars  on  jasmine  wreathed  verandas, 
the  splash  of  water  in  secluded  fountains  where 
orange  petals  drop  in  fragrance  and  the  mocker 
sings  through  moonlit  nights.  But  alas!  there  are 
no  birds  in  last  year's  nests.  With  the  passing  of 
California  under  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  the  old  order 
passed  too.  One  by  one,  the  great  Spanish  estates 
came  into  possession  of  hardheaded  Americans  who 
frankly  went  in  for  the  money  that  was  in  them,  and 


IN  CALIFORNIA  193 

whose  architectural  ideals,  when  they  had  any,  were 
expressed  in  the  peaked  roofs  and  gingerbread  trim- 
mings of  the  Atlantic  side  of  the  Continental  Divide. 
So  the  old  California  houses,  with  their  white- 
washed adobe  walls  and  tile  roofs,  their  cool  veran- 
das, and  their  patio  gardens  sheltered  from  public 
gaze,  have  rotted  gradually  away,  until  now  a  scant 
half-dozen,  if  so  many,  of  the  fine  old  places  can  be 
found  in  anything  like  their  first  estate.  Those  that 
persist  are  to  be  found  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
old  pueblo  towns — San  Diego,  Los  Angeles,  Santa 
Barbara  and  Monterey.  There  are,  for  instance,  in 
good  preservation,  the  lovely  gardens  of  the  Eancho 
Camulos,  midway  between  Santa  Barbara  and  Los 
Angeles,  in  the  valley  of  the  Eio  Santa  Clara  del 
Sur;  and  those  of  the  Eancho  Santa  Margarita,  a 
princely  domain  between  Los  Angeles  and  San 
Diego ;  while  a  few  miles  from  this  and  not  far  from 
San  Luis  Eey,  is  the  Eancho  Guajome.  At  all  these 
the  Spanish  tradition  is  still  dominant;  and  they 
represent  the  cream  of  the  little  that  is  now  left  to 
link  us  with  "the  further  Past  ...  the  dying  glow 
of  Spanish  glory." 

The  gardens  at  Camulos  are  the  best  known  of  all, 
because  of  the  place's  association  with  the  novel  of 
"Eamona."  In  front  of  the  low  rambling  resi- 
dence, familiar  at  least  to  every  tourist  who  buys 


194      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

postcards,  is  the  fruit  garden  given  over  to  orange 
trees,  pomegranates,  trellised  grapes  and  doubtless 
the  quinces  well  beloved  of  all  Spanish-Californians. 
Behind  the  house,  or  rather  enclosed  within  it,  is 
the  flower  garden — a  rectangular  patio — one  side  of 
which  is  hedged  by  a  dense  wall  of  Monterey  cypress ; 
and  the  other  three  fenced  in  by  the  house  and  wings, 
with  broad  sheltered  verandas  facing  the  flowery 
enclosure.  The  noisy  world  shut  out,  the  blue  sky 
overhead,  the  air  sweet  with  roses  and  slumberous 
with  hum  of  bees,  it  is  a  place  for  dreams  and  con- 
templation. In  the  center  is  a  circular  fountain 
surrounded  by  a  closely  trimmed  hedge  of  Monterey 
cypress,  whose  well  known  submissiveness  to  topi- 
ary treatment  has  been  availed  of  by  the  gardener, 
and  the  rim  is  clipped  into  a  series  of  big  buttons. 
At  the  time  of  my  last  visit,  the  flower  beds,  though 
more  orderly  than  Dona  Margarita's,  were  charac- 
terized by  the  same  conservative  devotion  to  the 
favorites  of  the  early  days,  and  an  arbor  by  the 
kitchen  was  overrun  with  an  enormous  snail  vine, 
its  stem  as  thick  as  my  wrist.  The  quaint  creamy- 
blue  blossoms  with  their  corkscrew  twist  suggesting 
a  snail-shell,  perfumed  all  the  air  about  the  kitchen 
door.  This  plant  (Phaseolus  Caracalla)  was  a  com- 
mon one  in  all  old  Spanish-California  gardens,  under 
the  name  of  caracal,  as  though  it  were  given  to 


IN  CALIFORNIA  195 

prancing  like  a  mettlesome  steed  in  a  parade !  But 
caracol,  it  seems,  only  means  a  snail,  and  caracoling 
is  but  an  Anglican  exuberance  from  that  slow  source. 
The  gardens  par  excellence  of  old  California  were 
those  of  the  Franciscan  Missions  before  the  time  of 
their  extinguishing  by  Mexican  secularization  some 
seventy-five  or  eighty  years  ago.  How  lovingly  the 
old-time  travelers,  starved  from  long  journeys 
across  deserts  or  by  sea,  dwelt  upon  the  rare  offer- 
ings of  fruits  and  vegetables  that  were  gratuitously 
lavished  upon  them  on  arrival  at  some  old  Mission! 
"When  Don  Joseph  de  Galvez  fitted  out  the  famous 
Holy  Expedition  of  1769  for  the  settlement  and  re- 
duction of  Alta  California,  he  packed  with  the  Mis- 
sionaries' outfit  seeds  of  all  useful  plants  for  the 
establishing  of  Mission  gardens.  Accordingly  a  be- 
ginning at  horticulture  in  California  was  made  very 
promptly  upon  the  founding  of  the  Mission  at  San 
Diego  in  1769,  and  subsequently  at  the  other  Mis- 
sions as  fast  as  these  were  started.  It  was  a  slow 
business,  however,  in  this  new  land  where  rain  was 
withheld  during  six  or  eight  months  of  the  year,  to 
learn  what  would  grow  and  what  would  not,  and  the 
Missionaries  had  no  recourse  but  to  go  to  school  to 
man's  ancient  teacher,  experience.  Moreover  what 
was  found  to  do  at  one  Mission,  might  not  do  at  all 
at  another,  because  of  difference  of  soil  or  greater 


196      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

degree  of  frost  or  less  rainfall.  So  during  the  first 
few  years  after  the  founding  of  the  Missions,  the 
gardens  continued  unproductive  to  such  a  degree 
that  the  Padres,  in  the  quaint  language  of  one  of 
them  writing  to  fruitful  Mexico,  "were  like  birds 
seeking  a  sad  living  for  themselves  and  their  In- 
dians." Before  the  time  of  Serra's  death,  however, 
in  1784,  the  gardens  at  half  a  dozen  of  the  oldest 
Missions  were  producing  abundantly.  The  olive 
and  the  grape,  the  pear,  the  lime,  the  orange  and  the 
fig  were  being  gathered  on  land  that  a  few  years  be- 
fore had  never  yielded  other  harvest  than  the  lean 
fruits  of  the  wilderness.  Even  the  date  had  been 
planted,  as  is  attested  by  the  presence  still  of  a  few 
old  trees  at  San  Diego,  San  Fernando  and  San 
Buenaventura.  The  primary  object,  however,  of 
cultivating  this  tree  seems  not  to  have  been  to  raise 
dates,  which  would  rarely  if  ever  mature  on  the 
California  coast,3  but  the  leaves.  From  the  time  of 
Isis  worship  in  Egypt,  the  leaf  of  the  date  palm  has 
been  an  emblem  of  victory,  and  its  employment  in 
the  Christian  festival  celebrating  the  Lord's  tri- 
umphal entry  into  Jerusalem,  made  it  desirable  for 
the  Missionaries  to  have  the  foliage  at  hand.  They 
might  of  course  have  made  shift  with  other  green- 

3  Hinds,  the  naturalist  of  the  "Sulphur"  Expedition,  which  was  at 
San  Diego  in  1839,  speaks  of  the  date  palms  there  yielding  only  sour 
fruit. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  197 

ery,  but  they  preferred  the  real  thing,  if  it  could  be 
had. 

The  Mission  gardens  were  in  the  main  utilitarian. 
Each  establishment  had,  first  of  all,  its  plantation 
of  vegetables,  its  vineyard  and  its  orchard  of  fruit 
trees.  Vancouver  in  the  narrative  of  his  visit  to 
California  in  1792-3  speaks  with  enthusiasm  of  the 
orchards  at  the  Mission  of  Santa  Clara,  which  in- 
cluded peaches,  pears  and  apricots,  and  records  a 
famous  present  of  twenty  mule-loads  of  garden  stuff 
received  by  him  from  the  Missionaries  at  San  Buena- 
ventura. The  latter  Mission  was  especially  noted 
for  its  productive  gardens,  which  the  Indians  culti- 
vated mainly  in  the  bottom  lands  of  the  Ventura 
Eiver.  Vancouver  spent  a  day  there  in  1793,  and 
has  left  a  glowing  account  of  what  he  saw.  The 
gardens,  he  tells  us,  "far  exceeded  anything  I  had 
before  met  in  these  regions — apples,  pears,  plums, 
figs,  oranges,  grapes,  peaches  and  pomegranates, 
together  with  the  plantain,  banana,  cocoanut,  sugar 
cane,  indigo  and  a  great  variety  of  the  necessary 
and  useful  kitchen  herbs — all  these  .  .  .  separated 
from  the  seaside  only  by  two  or  three  fields  of  corn 
that  were  cultivated  within  a  few  yards  of  the  surf." 
Sir  George  Simpson  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company, 
who  touched  at  San  Buenaventura  in  1841,  speaks 
of  the  fineness  of  the  gardens  even  then,  which  was 


198      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

seven  years  after  the  passage  of  the  Mexican  Secu- 
larization Act,  and  includes  lemons  and  tobacco  in 
his  list  of  the  products.  He,  like  Vancouver,  speaks 
of  cocoanuts ;  but  it  may  be  questioned  if  both  these 
travelers  of  the  sea  were  not  deceived  by  the  date 
palms  that  grew  (as  still  a  couple  of  them  grow) 
close  to  the  sea  at  Ventura,  and  might  easily  be 
mistaken  for  cocoanut  palms  by  the  non-botanical. 
In  those  pre-gringo  days,  the  Missions  were  the  only 
houses  of  entertainment  that  the  traveler  could 
count  on,  and  their  hospitality  was  freely  accorded 
to  all,  for  the  Franciscan  rule  forbade  the  taking  of 
money  in  payment  for  favors  given.  Eich  and  poor 
alike  were  welcomed,  but  in  the  case  of  guests  of 
distinction,  special  preparations  were  frequently 
made,  and  the  curious  reader  of  old  journals  will 
come  upon  accounts  of  generous  repasts  served  in 
pleasant  weather  under  arbors  in  the  Mission  gar- 
dens, followed  by  games  of  the  Indian  neophytes 
played  for  the  entertainment  of  the  visitors,  as  they 
sipped  their  pousse-caf e. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  however,  that  the  Mis- 
sionaries neglected  the  purely  esthetic  side  of  gar- 
dening. In  spite  of  the  austerity  of  their  monkish 
way  of  living,  they  were — many  of  them  at  least — 
men  of  tender  sensibilities,  and  were  by  no  means 
indifferent  to  the  purely  beautiful  in  God 's  creation. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  199 

We  remember  Padre  Crespi's  ecstasies  over  the 
wild  roses,  and  one  may  safely  wager  that  roses  and 
lilies  followed  close  upon  the  heels  of  frijoles  and 
cabbages  in  those  first  Franciscan  gardens.  Such 
records  as  I  have  had  access  to,  however,  are  very 
reticent  about  flowers — they  naturally  cut  no  figure 
in  the  official  records  and  reports;  and  as  for  per- 
sonal letters  of  the  Brothers  themselves  to  friends 
and  relatives  at  home,  there  is  nothing  rarer  in  the 
archives  of  California.  Father  Engelhardt,  the  of- 
ficial historian  of  the  Franciscans  in  the  State,  has 
commented  upon  this  fact  as  an  evidence  of  the  sin- 
gle-heartedness of  their  apostolic  labor.  The  char- 
acter of  their  flower  gardens  is  nevertheless  clearly 
indicated  by  the  observations  of  visiting  travelers, 
such  as  Sir  George  Simpson,  when  he  stopped  for  a 
while  at  Santa  Barbara  and  marveled  at  the  bloom 
of  jonquils,  marigolds,  lilies,  wallflowers,  violets  and 
hollyhocks,  even  in  winter.  The  blight  of  Secular- 
ization, which  began  to  be  felt  in  1835,  was  a  death- 
blow to  the  Mission  gardens  small  and  great,  and 
one  by  one  they  returned  to  the  dust  that  gave  them. 
In  1839,  according  to  Hinds,  the  gardens  at  Mis- 
sion San  Diego  had  already  fallen  into  decay.  In 
1846  Fremont  reported  fertile  valleys  overgrown 
with  wild  mustard,  vineyards  and  orchards  neglected 
and  disappearing;  but  with  the  rapid  influx  of  im- 


£00      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

migrants  into  the  State  after  the  gold  discoveries  in 
1848,  there  was  an  enormous  demand  for  foodstuffs, 
and  the  forgotten  Mission  gardens  came  to  memory 
again.  Investigation  showed  that  some  of  the 
hardier  sorts  of  plants — notably  the  pear,  the  olive 
and  the  grape — were  still  alive  about  the  old  estab- 
lishments, and  by  pruning,  cultivating  and  irrigat- 
ing, could  be  made  to  yield  anew,  and  to  supply  cut- 
tings for  propagation.  The  first  fruit  offered  to 
the  Argonauts  in  the  markets  of  San  Francisco 
came,  it  is  said,  from  the  furbished-up  old  pear  trees 
and  grape  vines  of  the  Bay  Missions,  Santa  Clara 
and  San  Jose. 

Of  all  the  trees  of  the  Fathers'  setting  out  remain- 
ing to-day,  the  best  known  are  perhaps  a  few  date 
palms  and  certain  olives  and  pears — notably  some 
ancient  olives  at  San  Diego,  and  the  century-old 
pears  at  Carmel  and  San  Juan  Bautista,  which  are 
still  in  bearing.  I  have  an  especial  fondness, 
though,  for  certain  shaggy,  thorny,  little  trees  that 
one  may  still  run  across,  bridging  the  gulf  of  time  to 
the  Padres'  days,  at  the  edge  of  the  old  olive  yard 
at  Mission  San  Fernando,  though  they  are  in  im- 
minent peril  of  being  uprooted  in  the  spread  of  what 
the  real  estate  dealers  call  "improvement."  They 
bear  little  balls  of  deep  yellow  bloom  of  such  a  pene- 
trating and  delicious  perfume,  as  I  know  in  no  other 


IN  CALIFORNIA  201 

flowers,  and  are  specimens  of  Acacia  Farnesiana,  or 
juisache — the  vinorama  of  Sonora.  In  full  bloom, 
as  they  are  in  March,  their  penetrating  perfume 
scents  the  air  with  a  peculiarly  delicious  fragrance 
that  one  never  forgets.  The  Fathers  brought  the 
plant  up  from  Mexico,  though  it  is  indigenous  also 
in  Texas.  It  is  grown  in  our  Southern  States  under 
the  misnomer  of  opoponax,  and  in  Southern  Europe 
as  cassie,  where  it  is  used  by  the  perfume  makers. 
Its  leaves  are  very  sensitive  and  go  to  sleep  every 
night.  It  is  one  of  the  plants  with  which  Darwin 
experimented  when  making  his  observations  on  the 
sleep  of  leaves. 

The  clumps  of  great,  flat-jointed  cactus  which  are 
still  standing  in  the  neighborhood  of  many  of  the 
Missions,  possess  more  than  a  passing  interest. 
They  are  of  two  species,  Opuntia  Ficus-Indica  and 
0.  Tuna,  both  introduced  by  the  Padres  from  Mex- 
ico, to  which  country  they  are  indigenous.  They 
served  a  double  purpose.  They  formed  a  quick- 
growing  hedge  for  gardens  and  other  enclosures,  and 
were  also  a  valuable  source  of  food  for  the  Indians — 
the  cactus  fruit,  called  tuna,  being  a  really  delicious 
morsel  when  divested  of  its  prickly  coat.  Opuntia 
Ficus-Indica,  anglice  Indian  fig,  bears  a  pyriform 
fruit  about  the  size  of  a  duck's  egg  and  of  a  pale 
straw  color;  Opuntia  Tuna's  fruit  is  red  and 


202       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

rather  smaller.  One  September  day,  a  year  or  so 
ago,  I  happened  to  be  near  the  Mission  San  Gabriel, 
and  noticed  an  old  Mexican  man  and  a  little  boy 
making  for  one  of  those  ancient  cactus  clumps  as  if 
on  business  bent,  and  disappear  within  it.  My  curi- 
osity was  aroused  to  know  what  they  were  after,  so 
I  followed.  The  individual  cactus  plants  were  from 
ten  to  Hfteen  feet  high,  with  tree-like  trunks,  and 
the  whole  plantation  (which  was  thirty  or  forty  feet 
through)  was  threaded  with  well  trodden  paths.  On 
the  far  side,  I  came  upon  my  two  Mexicans,  gather- 
ing tunas  which  were  then  just  ripe.  The  old  man 
had  a  pole  through  the  end  of  which  at  right  angles 
a  nail  had  been  driven.  Lifting  his  stick  to  the 
abundant  " pears,"  he  speared  them  one  by  one  and 
brought  them  to  the  ground  where  the  boy  brushed 
the  bristles  from  them  and  put  them  in  a  basket. 

The  muchacho  looked  up,  and  responded  pleas- 
antly to  my  salutation. 

"You  want  to  eat?"  he  said.  "Bueno.  You  got 
knife?" 

With  that,  he  quickly  brushed  a  tuna  clean  of 
bristles  by  rolling  it  over  and  over  on  the  sandy 
ground  with  a  bunch  of  grass;  then  with  my  knife 
he  deftly  sliced  a  thin  section  transversely  from  each 
end,  and  a  vertical  strip  off  the  rind  from  end  to  end. 
Pressing  back  the  rind  from  this  cut,  he  released  the 


IN  CALIFORNIA  203 

cool  juicy  interior  into  my  expectant  fingers.  It 
was  exceedingly  refreshing  on  that  warm  day,  in 
taste  very  much  like  a  watermelon,  and  the  only 
criticism  I  had  to  make  was  that  it  was  extrava- 
gantly provided  with  small,  bony  seeds.  These, 
however,  were  easily  spat  out ;  though  the  boy,  who 
peeled  a  tuna  too,  for  his  own  refreshment,  ate  his, 
as  I  have  seen  country  lads  back  East  eat  cherries, 
stones  and  all.  It  was,  on  the  whole,  a  pleasant  ex- 
perience, and  brought  me  closer  to  old  California 
days  than  I  had  felt  before.  So,  as  I  parted  from 
my  little  friend,  I  thought  up  my  scanty  Spanish 
and  gave  him  my  many  thanks. 

"Por  nada,  senor,"  he  replied  in  the  pleasant 
Mexican  phrase,  "for  nothing,  sir." 


ON  CERTAIN  CALIFORNIA  SPECIALTIES  AND 
RARITIES 

NOW  and  then  at  some  California  rural  resort — 
tourist  hotel  or  summer  mountain-camp — I 
meet  upon  the  trail  a  person  with  perplexed  face, 
a  few  sprigs  of  wild  flowers,  and  a  pocket  edition 
of  Gray's  " Manual  of  Botany."  I  recognize  the 
tenderfoot  botanist,  and  a  dozen  years  of  desultory 
herborizing  on  the  Coast  have  not,  I  am  humbly 
thankful  to  say,  hardened  me  to  her  case.  (I  say 
her  merely  for  simplicity  of  diction  and  in  default 
of  our  language's  sadly  needed  double-gender  pro- 
noun; sometimes  she  is  a  man.)  Nobody  told  her 
before  she  left  the  East,  or  if  anybody  did,  she  did 
not  realize  the  significance  of  the  report,  that  Flora 
turns  over  a  new  leaf  at  the  Rocky  Mountains  and 
yet  another  at  the  Sierra  Nevada,  and  that  in  all 
California  she  would  find  scarcely  an  indigenous 
herb,  bush  or  tree  that  would  be  familiar  to  her. 
There  are  pines,  to  be  sure,  and  oaks,  but  not  one 
is  of  a  species  she  loved  in  her  dear  New  England 

204 


IN  CALIFORNIA  205 

or  Pennsylvania  or  Indiana.  There  are  sumacs,  but 
who  would  know  them?  There  are  violets  and  but- 
tercups but  not  the  violets  and  buttercups  of  home ; 
alders  and  elders,  but  they  are  of  the  dimensions  of 
forest  trees ;  and  there  are  hundreds  of  flowers  and 
plants  the  forms  and  faces  of  which  are  so  absolutely 
unfamiliar  that  she  cannot  even  guess  their  names. 
And  none  of  these  outlandish  Californians  can  she 
run  to  earth  in  Gray. 

"As  far  as  botanizing  goes,"  she  wails,  "I  might 
as  well  be  in  Kamchatka  or  Timbuctoo ;  for  the  book- 
stores tell  me  there  is  no  counterpart  of  Gray *  for 
the  Coast  flora,  and  I  love  Gray ! ' ' 

As  a  matter  of  fact  there  are  indigenous  to  Cali- 
fornia about  the  same  number  of  known  species  of 
flowering  plants  including  sedges,  rushes  and 

i  "A  Flora  of  California,"  by  Dr.  W.  L.  Jepson,  of  the  University 
of  California,  aiming  to  cover  the  entire  State,  is  now  being  issued 
in  parts  from  time  to  time,  but  is  yet  far  from  completed.  Meantime 
the  student  will  find  useful  the  same  author's  "Flora  of  Western  Mid- 
dle California,"  Hall's  "Yosemite  Flora"  (which  covers  the  principal 
trees,  flowers  and  ferns  of  the  Sierra  region)  ;  Abrams'  "Flora  of  Los 
Angeles  and  Vicinity,"  and  Hall's  "Compositae  of  Southern  California." 
"The  Botany  of  the  Geological  Survey  of  California,"  issued  in  two 
large  volumes  in  1880,  and  to  be  consulted  in  public  libraries,  is  also  au- 
thoritative, but  because  of  its  early  date  it  is  lacking  in  the  descrip- 
tion of  many  plants.  For  description  in  popular  language  of  the 
most  noticeable  flowers  and  shrubs,  "The  Wild  Flowers  of  California," 
by  Mary  Elizabeth  Parsons  Hawver,  with  illustrations  by  Margaret 
Warriner  Buck,  is  excellent,  as,  for  arboreal  plants,  are  Miss  Alice 
Eastwood's  "Handbook  of  the  Trees  of  California,"  and  J.  Smeaton 
Chase's  "Cone-bearing  Trees  of  the  California  Mountains." 


206       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

grasses — that  is,  between  3,000  and  3,500 — as  are 
native  to  the  country  east  of  the  Missouri  Eiver,  and 
north  of  Tennessee  and  North  Carolina,  the  region 
of  Gray's  Manual.  Of  this  number  there  are  per- 
haps not  over  200  native  species  common  to  both 
floras.  No  wonder,  then,  that  the  newcomer  in  Cali- 
fornia finds  practically  every  plant  a  new  species  to 
him,  and  many  of  them  new  genera.  On  the  other 
hand,  certain  familiar  sorts  are  noticeably  wanting. 
This  is  particularly  true  of  trees.  The  California 
forests  are  largely  coniferous.  We  search  in  vain 
for  native  chestnut  or  beech,  hickory  or  locust  or 
elm,  linden  or  magnolia  or  tulip-tree.  There  is  one 
walnut,  a  small  tree  often  a  shrub,  and  not  very 
abundant — the  English  walnut  of  the  ranches  being 
of  course  introduced.  There  is  a  box-elder,  but  it 
has  a  look  of  its  own  and  is  given  varietal  distinc- 
tion by  botanists ;  and  there  is  a  versatile  chinqua- 
pin, which  on  high  mountains  makes  a  low-growing 
chaparral,  while  under  favorable  conditions  at  lower 
elevations  it  has  been  known  to  attain  a  height  of 
a  hundred  feet  or  more.  Of  three  maples,  two  are 
shrubby  and  mainly  found  off  .the  beaten  track  of 
travel.  The  other,  however,  Acer  macrophyllum  or 
big  leaf  maple,  is  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of 
trees,  growing  to  a  height  of  seventy-five  or  eighty 
feet,  and  possessed  of  leaves  typically  maple-like  in 


Mexican   gathering  tunas   at  San   Gabriel.     Below  are  the 

"pears" 


IN  CALIFORNIA  207 

form  but  surprisingly  large,  each  sometimes  a  square 
foot  or  more  in  area.  Few  trees  are  more  striking 
than  this  noble  maple  in  the  spring,  when  its  crown 
of  generous  foliage  is  enlivened  with  pendent  fra- 
grant clusters  of  yellow  bloom.  Like  its  eastern 
cousins  it  is  deciduous,  and  the  leaves  before  falling, 
take  on  the  beautiful  golden  tints  of  autumn.  The 
timber  possesses  qualities  valued  by  builders,  who 
put  it  into  the  hardwood  floors  of  many  a  Pacific 
coast  bungalow. 

Of  the  oaks  which  the  early  Spaniards  called 
robles  and  encinas,  something  has  been  said  in  a 
previous  chapter.  Though  less  numerous  to-day 
than  in  former  times,  their  symmetrical,  spreading 
crowns  still  dot  valley  and  mountain  side,  and 
awaken  the  admiration  of  every  observant  traveler. 
The  ground  beneath  one  of  these  magnificent  trees 
makes  a  fascinating  camping  place,  the  great,  lower 
limbs  often  drooping  at  the  tips  to  enclose  it  as  with 
the  wall  of  a  tent,  thirty  or  forty  feet  from  side  to 
side ;  and  every  summer  in  some  parts  of  the  State, 
whole  families  make  such  spots  their  home  for 
longer  or  shorter  periods,  bringing  their  cots  and 
cookstoves,  and  tasting  in  this  twentieth  century  of 
grace  the  delights  of  those  early  times  when  primi- 
tive man,  awakening  to  thoughts  of  architecture,  be- 
gan building  his  shelters  each  with  a  tree  for  a  cen- 


208       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

ter.  It  is  an  interesting  fact  that  the  two  most  dis- 
tinctive species  of  California  oaks — the  deciduous 
Quercus  lobata  and  the  evergreen  Quercus  agri- 
folia — were  the  first  of  all  California  trees  to  be 
published  by  a  botanist,  the  Spaniard  Nee  being  the 
author  of  the  descriptions  of  both  (Madrid,  1801). 
They  are  wholly  of  California,  being  found  indig- 
enous nowhere  else  in  the  world,  if  we  count  the 
lower  peninsula  within  the  term.  An  interesting 
feature  of  several  species  of  the  California  oaks,  in- 
cluding these  two,  is  the  occasional  remarkable  slen- 
derness  of  the  acorn,  reduced  at  times  to  the  simili- 
tude of  a  long,  stout  spine.  In  some  regions  of  the 
State,  as  in  the  Paso  de  los  Eobles  traversed  by  the 
Southern  Pacific  Coast  Line  between  San  Francisco 
and  Los  Angeles,  the  oaks  are  noticeably  draped 
with  hanging  tufts  of  gray,  which  travelers  are  apt 
to  take  for  the  " Florida  moss"  of  the  live  oaks  in 
the  South  Atlantic  States.  They  are  not  at  all  that 
flowering  epiphyte,  however,  but  a  very  different 
plant — a  species  of  lichen. 

Three  Rare  Conifers 

The  coniferous  woodlands  of  the  Pacific  Coast  are 
not  only  in  many  respects  the  most  remarkable  in 
the  world  for  beauty  and  grandeur,  but  they  pos- 
sess another  interest  in  including  a  fir,  a  pine  and  a 


IN  CALIFORNIA  209 

cypress,  that  are  among  the  rarest  of  trees.  The 
fir  is  the  so-called  Santa  Lucia  fir  (Abies  venusta 
or  bracteata)  which  occurs  only  in  a  restricted  area 
of  one  of  the  wildest  regions  of  California,  the  Santa 
Lucia  Sierra  of  Monterey  County.  It  is  a  striking 
tree,  branched  usually  to  the  ground  and  rising  from 
a  broad  base  to  the  height  of  sixty,  seventy  or  even 
a  hundred  feet,  the  crown  narrowing  upward  rather 
rapidly  and  terminating  in  a  high,  slender  leader 
like  a  church  spire — a  characteristic  so  marked  as 
to  render  the  species  distinguishable  as  far  off  as 
the  eye  can  reach.  The  cones,  not  the  least  remark- 
able feature  of  the  tree,  bristle  with  long  antennae- 
like  needles  which  are  the  prolonged  tips  of  the  cone 
scales.  This  fir  exudes  an  aromatic  gum,  which  was 
turned  to  account  by  the  Franciscan  Missionaries  of 
the  region  as  fuel  for  their  censers.  For  this  rea- 
son they  called  it  drbol  de  incienso — the  incense- 
tree  ;  and  this  fact  probably  led  to  its  botanical  dis- 
covery by  Dr.  Thomas  Coulter,  who  appears  to  have 
been  at  the  San  Antonio  Mission  in  the  Santa  Lucia 
country  in  1831,  and  who  afterwards  spread  the  fame 
of  the  tree  in  Europe.  Its  remarkable  features 
brought  other  collectors  from  time  to  time,  who  in- 
troduced it  into  cultivation  abroad.  Even  at  the 
present  day,  you  can  hardly  please  a  tree  lover  more 
than  to  take  him  a  jaunt  to  the  haunts  of  this  fa- 


210       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

mous  rarity — a  quest,  however,  which  necessitates  a 
camp  outfit,  stout  legs  and  the  expenditure  of  sev- 
eral days  of  time,  to  be  entirely  satisfactory. 

Also  in  Monterey  County  is  the  native  home  of 
one  of  the  most  widely  cultivated  conifers  in  Cali- 
fornia— the  Monterey  cypress  (Cupressus  macro- 
carpa).  As  a  wild  tree,  it  occurs  in  an  even  more 
circumscribed  area  than  its  neighbor  the  Santa 
Lucia  fir — being  confined  to  two  scattered  groves  at 
the  edge  of  Carmel  Bay.  One  of  these  is  to  the 
south  of  that  lovely  water,  on  Point  Lobos ;  the  other 
to  the  north,  on  Cypress  Point.  The  wonderful  old 
trees  on  the  bluffs  at  the  latter  place,  their  flattened 
tops  blown  by  centuries  of  storms  into  all  sorts  of 
arboreal  phantasms,  are  among  the  sights  cherished 
by  every  tourist  who  takes  Monterey's  Seventeen- 
Mile  drive.  Be  kind  to  the  driver,  as  he  prattles 
to  you  of  these  old  giants  of  the  shore,  which  he  will 
unblushingly  tell  you  are  of  the  same  " specie"  as 
the  cedars  of  Lebanon,  and  anywhere  from  one  to 
two  thousand  years  old.  Be  kind  to  him,  but  do 
not  believe  him.  They  are  not  cedars  at  all,  and  as 
for  their  age,  while  nobody  knows,  you  cannot  get 
any  botanist  to  believe  from  present  evidence,  that 
they  live  over  two  or  three  hundred  years,  at  the 
most.  From  those  inspiring  storm-swept  heroes  to 
the  evergreen  roosters  and  teapots  carved  in  the 


IN  CALIFORNIA  211 

hedges  of  Burlingame  and  Los  Angeles,  is  a  far 
cry,  but  in  point  of  fact  the  hedges  are  of  the  same 
stuff  as  the  trees.  The  Monterey  cypress,  removed 
from  the  pelting  of  ocean  northwesters  is  quite  a 
conventionalist  in  method  of  growth;  moreover  it 
lends  itself  with  peculiar  complaisance  to  the  fancy 
of  the  topiary  artist.  It  has,  accordingly,  long  been 
a  favorite  in  California  for  hedges,  the  tree  in  such 
situations  of  course  being  continually  cut  back  to 
required  dimensions;  and  it  has  also  been  exten- 
sively planted  for  wind-breaks  and  as  a  shade  tree ; 
so  in  spite  of  the  small  area  to  which  it  is  indigenous, 
it  is  of  all  the  State 's  trees,  one  of  the  best  known  to 
Californians,  and  indeed  to  the  world  at  large.  Its 
seeds  have  been  shipped  around  the  globe,  and  it  is 
now  cultivated  even  in  the  antipodes. 

Also  in  cultivation  to-day,  and  therefore  for  the 
present  safe  from  the  extinction  which  threatens 
rare  wildings  through  the  settlement  of  the  country, 
is  the  third  of  this  trio  of  coniferous  rarities — the 
Torrey  or  Soledad  pine  (Pinus  Torreyana).  It  is 
indigenous  to  a  few  miles  of  territory  near  the 
mouth  of  the  Soledad  Eiver  between  Del  Mar  and 
La  Jolla,  in  San  Diego  County,  and  to  Santa  Rosa 
Island  off  Santa  Barbara,  and  nowhere  else  at  all. 
The  tree  was  described  by  Dr.  C.  C.  Parry,  whose  at- 
tention was  called  to  it  about  1855,  and  named  by 


212      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

him  in  honor  of  John  Torrey,  the  distinguished  co- 
worker  with  Dr.  Asa  Gray  in  the  virgin  fields  of 
American  botany.  It  is  a  small  tree,  with  little  that 
is  noteworthy  to  commend  it  to  the  non-botanical  ex- 
cept possibly  its  rather  squat  cones  which  evince 
great  reluctance  to  leave  the  limb,  persisting  there 
for  four  or  five  years ;  and  when  they  finally  do  drop, 
they  leave  the  basal  part  affixed  to  the  tree.  The 
mainland  locality  occupied  by  the  Torrey  pine  is  ex- 
ceedingly picturesque  and  wild  on  seaward-looking 
hills,  with  flowery,  sunny  canons  and  arroyos  open- 
ing to  the  Pacific.  A  public  road  runs  through  the 
midst  of  the  scattered  trees,  but  otherwise  they  are 
quite  removed  from  public  haunt,  offering  a  rare 
tavern  of  the  open  to  picnickers  and  those  contem- 
plative souls  who  love  that  happy  combination  of 
the  shade  of  a  tree  and  the  long,  long  vistas  of  the 
sea. 

The  presence  of  these  three  groups  of  rare  trees 
gathered  on  three  little  scraps  of  territory  along  the 
ocean's  marge,  like  passengers  huddled  here  and 
there  on  the  deck  of  a  sinking  ship,  is  a  striking  fact 
that  has  given  rise  to  much  speculation.  Are  they 
the  last  of  a  vanishing  race  or  the  forbears  of  a 
coming  one?  Why  are  they  here  and  nowhere  else 
in  the  world?  One,  though,  does  occur  on  an  island 
a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  away ;  and  by  way  of  sup- 


IN  CALIFORNIA  £13 

plement,  botanists  have  discovered  a  number  of  rare 
plant  forms  common  to  the  mainland  coast  and  to 
those  islands  that  stretch  like  peaks  of  some  out- 
lying submarine  mountain  range  from  Santa  Bar- 
bara to  Coronado.  The  trend  of  evidence  is  that 
in  some  former  age  the  California  mainland  ex- 
tended westward  to  that  chain  of  islands;  that  a 
subsidence  later  of  the  extensive  area  between  the 
islands  and  the  present  coast  line,  carried  down  with 
it  a  vast  multitude  of  trees  and  plants;  and  a  few 
remnants  have  to  this  day  clung  upon  the  outskirts 
of  the  submerged  territory.  It  is  safe  to  assume 
that  our  three  lone  conifers  are  of  these  remnants — 
like  Wordsworth's  Lady  of  the  Mere, 

"Sole  sitting  by  the  shores  of  old  romance/' 

Madrono  and  Laurel  Silvestre 

Traveling  through  northern  California,  whether 
by  train  or  motor-car  or  more  primitive  mode,  you 
can  hardly  fail  to  notice  in  the  forest  now  and  then 
the  presence  of  tall,  slender  trees,  with  remarkably 
smooth,  red  branches  and  glossy  foliage  that  sug- 
gest magnolias.  They  are  the  tree  which  Cali- 
fornians  are  disposed  to  call  the  madrone,  a  slur- 
ring of  the  Spanish  madrono,  a  word  which  people 
interested  in  the  purity  of  language  dislike  to  hear 
mutilated.  Like  the  subject  of  Halleck's  famous 


214       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

apostrophe,  the  madrono  is  known,  only  to  be  loved, 
and  named  but  to  be  praised.  We  often  speak  care- 
lessly of  this  or  that  as  an  aristocrat  among  trees, 
but  when  we  see  the  madrono,  our  voices  are  hushed 
involuntarily  and  we  find  our  hats  in  our  hands; 
for  this  is  the  obvious  aristocrat  of  them  all,  the 
bluest  blood  of  the  forest;  there  is  no  other  like  it. 
Maybe  you  know  Bret  Harte's  spirited  poem  about 
it?  He  calls  it  several  pretty  names — " captain  of 
the  Western  wood,"  "gallant  of  the  glade,"  and  so 
on.  Besides  a  certain  patrician  grace  of  manner 
that  distinguishes  it,  it  has  a  charm  of  color  that  is 
remarkable.  The  bark,  more  particularly  of  the 
limb,  is  thin  and  smooth  and  of  a  striking  shade  of 
red.  About  July  it  begins  to  peel  off  in  flakes  and 
quills,  and  falls  to  the  ground,  revealing  the  under 
bark  which  is  first  of  a  satiny  green  but  gradually 
deepens  to  red.  Simultaneously  with  this  change  of 
bark,  new  leaves  put  out  and  the  old  leathery  leaf- 
age is  discarded,  strewing  the  woodland  floor  be- 
neath them  with  autumnal  tints  in  midsummer. 
Meantime  the  waxen-white  urns  of  flowers  that 
adorned  the  trees  in  February  and  March  like  sprays 
of  aerial  lilies  of  the  valley,  have  given  place  to 
clusters  of  rough- jacketed  little  berries,  which  in  au- 
tumn turn  orange  scarlet,  and  make  flush  times  for 
the  doves  and  deer  far  into  the  winter.  It  is  a  tree 


IN  CALIFORNIA  215 

that,  whatever  the  season,  seems  always  full  of  the 
enthusiasm  and  hopefulness  of  youth. 

The  madrono,  while  found  sparingly  in  the 
south — a  few  trees  denizen  the  skirts  of  the  Mount 
Wilson  trail  north  of  Pasadena — is  at  its  best  from 
the  San  Francisco  region  northward,  extending 
through  the  coast  country  of  Oregon  and  Washing- 
ton to  Puget  Sound.  It  appears  to  have  been  in  the 
last  named  neighborhood  that  it  was  first  seen  by  a 
botanist — the  Scotchman  Archibald  Menzies,  who 
sent  specimens  to  England  in  1827.  In  his  honor  it 
was  named  Arbutus  Menziesii;  and  by  the  way,  if 
you  are  not  Scotch  it  may  surprise  you  to  know  that 
this  collector's  name  is  pronounced  Ming-iz.  Long 
before  Menzies,  however,  the  tree  had  caught  the 
eye  of  members  of  Portola's  Expedition  of  1769,  as 
they  turned  southward  after  the  discovery  of  San 
Francisco  Bay.  Under  date  of  November  5  of  that 
year,  Padre  Crespi  records:  "These  last  two  days 
many  madronos  have  been  met  with,  although  the 
fruit  is  smaller  than  the  Spanish  but  indeed  the 
same  kind."2  Madrono  is  Spanish  for  the  straw- 
berry-tree of  Europe  (Arbutus  unedo),  and  those 
pioneers  made  a  happy  guess  in  calling  it  as  they 

2  "En  estas  dos  jomadas  ultimas,  se  ban  encontrado  muchos  ma- 
dronos, aunque  la  fruta  es  mas  chica  que  la  de  Espana  pero  si  de  la 
misma  especie." 


216      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

did,  for  it  really  is  an  Arbutus,  closely  akin  to  the 
European,  though  not,  as  Crespi  thought,  the  same 
species. 

Another  remarkable  tree,  of  which  the  traveler  in 
the  California  woods  is  not  long  ignorant  is  the  Cali- 
fornia laurel — the  laurel  silvestre  of  the  Spanish- 
speaking  population  (Umbellularia  Calif ornica). 
It  is  peculiar  to  the  Pacific  Coast  and  is  of  the  same 
family  with  the  camphor,  the  sassafras  and  the 
laurel  of  history  and  literature ;  a  very  variable  tree 
in  matter  of  size,  running  all  the  way  from  twice 
the  height  of  a  man  to  a  hundred  feet  and  even  up- 
ward. Whatever  its  inches,  however,  one  need 
never  be  in  doubt  about  its  identity  because  of  the 
pungent  odor  of  the  leaves,  which,  pinched  between 
the  fingers,  or  even  brushed  against  as  one  climbs 
the  trail,  give  off  a  fragrance  not  unlike  that  of  bay 
rum.  The  pleasant  aroma  sometimes  tempts  the 
inexperienced  to  sniff  a  lot  of  it,  but  generally  only 
once,  as  it  is  apt  to  produce  headache  or  violent 
sneezing.  Perhaps  the  latter  effect  is  responsible  for 
the  name  pepper  wood,  by  which  the  tree  sometimes 
goes.  On  the  homeopathic  principle,  the  Indians, 
according  to  Mr.  Chesnut,  recommend  a  leaf  put  in 
the  nostril,  or  several  in  the  hat,  to  cure  headache ; 
while  as  a  discourager  of  fleas  the  foliage  strewn 
about  the  premises  is  said  even  by  white  people  to 


Yucca   Whipplei 


IN  CALIFORNIA  217 

be  effective.  The  laurel  abounds  in  California  from 
one  end  of  the  State  to  the  other,  and  across  into 
southwestern  Oregon,  where  it  is  known  as  myrtle. 
It  is  a  neatly  dressed,  dignified  tree  with  rich  green 
leaves  that  persist  for  several  years,  and  bears  a 
fruit  in  appearance  surprisingly  like  an  olive.  The 
oily,  thin-shelled  kernel,  after  roasting,  used  to  ap- 
peal to  the  redman's  palate  in  Northern  California, 
where  particularly  in  the  redwood  belt  the  finest 
specimens  of  the  tree  are  found.  The  clustered 
greenish-yellow  blossoms,  individually  inconspicu- 
ous, are  pleasant  features  of  a  midwinter  ramble  in 
the  canons  and  foothills,  when  the  tide  of  wild-flower 
life  is  at  its  lowest. 

Among  the  Tarweeds  in  the  Sierras 

Biding  one  day  with  a  California  mountaineer,  I 
asked  him  if  he  knew  the  name  of  a  certain  flower 
blooming  by  the  roadside.  He  glanced  at  it  with 
lack-interest  eye,  and  shifting  his  quid,  remarked : 

"Search  me,  partner,  some  kind  of  blasted  tar- 
weed,  I  guess." 

I  pricked  up  my  ears  at  that,  for  I  was  then  fresh 
from  the  East  and  tarweed  was  a  new  word  to  me. 
I  have  since  learned  it  is  a  California  specialty,  and 
my  first  real  acquaintance  with  the  miscellaneous 
plant  fraternity  that  goes  by  that  name,  began  one 


21S      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

summer  when  camping  in  the  sunny  kingdom  of  the 
sugar  pines  in  Central  California.  Here  and  there 
about  our  camp  in  the  cheerful  openness  of  the  for- 
est grew  and  bloomed  mariposa  tulips  gay-winged 
as  butterflies  and  bright-faced  monkey  flowers; 
golden  eriophyllums,  fritillaries  in  chocolate  and 
green,  and  fragrant  blue  lupines;  lilies  and  wild 
roses  and  gilias  of  as  many  hues  as  Harlequin's 
coat ;  but  commoner  than  any  was  a  twinkling  white 
flower  like  a  strawberry  blossom  resting  solitarily 
upon  a  low,  shrubby  plant  whose  finely  dissected 
leaves,  spread  like  a  mat,  covered  considerable  areas 
on  the  slopes  and  banks  beneath  the  giant  pines. 
The  foliage  was  fragrant  with  an  aroma  suggesting 
tobacco,  and  sticky  to  a  degree  that  was  as  embar- 
rassing as  molasses,  as  I  discovered  after  gathering 
some  specimens  for  consultation  with  the  Pro- 
fessor. 

" Chamaebatia  foliolosa,"  he  pronounced  it  with 
learned  formality,  "but  the  mountaineers  sometimes 
call  it  'mountain  misery'  which  is  not  a  bad  name, 
because  any  one  walking  through  the  patches  of  it, 
which  are  everywhere,  gets  his  shoes  and  trousers 
miserably  tarred  up  with  the  viscous  clothing  of  its 
leaves.  Sheep  and  cattle  become  smeared  with  the 
same  stuff,  and  the  mountain  people  tell  me  that  by 
autumn  cowbells  sometimes  become  so  clogged  up 


IN  CALIFORNIA  219 

with  it  as  to  be  all  but  inaudible.  They  call  it  tar- 
weed,  too,  which  would  be  good  enough  except  that 
that  name  properly  belongs  to  two  or  three  genera 
of  Compositae,  with  similar  sticky  coats.  We'll 
find  them  hereabout,  too." 

Some  weeks  after  that  in  the  cool  of  an  early 
August  morning,  as  I  walked  campward  after  a  bout 
with  the  trout,  I  wars  surprised  to  see  a  part  of  the 
woodland  which  I  had  thought  flowerless,  starred 
with  hundreds  of  lovely  daisy-like  blooms,  yellow- 
rayed  with  red  centers.  Stooping  to  pick  some,  I 
found  my  hands  quickly  gummed  with  a  viscid  ex- 
cretion from  the  plants,  and  I  did  not  need  the  Pro- 
fessor to  tell  me  I  had  now  discovered  a  simon-pure 
tarweed.  I  did,  nevertheless,  pilot  him  to  the  spot 
at  noon,  only  to  find  to  my  astonishment,  that  every 
flower  had  vanished  as  in  thin  air!  The  blossoms 
were  nocturnal.  It  was  the  species  called  Madia 
elegans,  and  as  the  summer  merged  into  autumn  I 
had  an  opportunity  to  extend  my  acquaintance  to 
half  a  dozen  species  both  of  Madia  and  the  kindred 
genus  Hemizonia.  The  latter  tribe  is  exclusively 
Californian,  the  flowers  often  handsome  in  white  or 
yellow  or  pink,  all  opening  at  evening  and  closing 
in  the  brightness  of  the  risen  sun.  It  includes  some 
twenty-five  species  growing  in  various  parts  of  the 
State,  and  in  all  sorts  of  situations — in  valleys  and 


220      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

on  mountain  heights,  in  dry;  arroyos  and  on  what 
Dr.  Gray  pleasantly  termed  "desiccated  plains." 
Of  Madia  there  are  about  a  dozen  species  and  varie- 
ties, some  of  which  slip  over  the  California  border 
into  near-by  States  northward  and  eastward. 

While  the  great  abundance  of  these  sticky  plants 
makes  them  at  times-  a  great  nuisance  to  ranchers 
and  to  pedestrians  with  a  regard  for  neatness  of  at- 
tire, they  possess  more  than  a  passing  interest  to  the 
contemplative  mind.  In  California  the  warm,  dry 
months  of  midsummer  and  early  autumn,  when  their 
flowers  appear,  are  a  season  of  rest  for  most  wild 
plants,  just  as  winter  is  a  time  of  plant  dormancy  in 
colder  climates.  The  rains  have  long  since  ceased; 
the  ground  is  baked  on  the  surface,  and  dry  ap- 
parently as  bone  for  a  foot  down ;  the  degrees  of  the 
air's  relative  humidity  are  fewer  at  times  than  your 
fingers ;  and  except  where  cultivation  and  irrigation 
keep  up  a  mantle  of  green,  the  general  tone  of  the 
landscape  is  dun  and  sere  as  in  the  eastern  Novem- 
ber. Then  it  is — after  months  of  drought  and  not 
till  then — that  these  tarweeds  and  a  few  boon  com- 
rades of  other  sorts,  begin  to  warm  up  to  life,  to 
spread  their  petals  to  the  sun  and  invite  the  bees. 
One  wonders  where  in  the  midst  of  almost  desert 
conditions  they  get  the  wherewithal  to  make  their 
brave  showing.  The  secret  of  this  success  would 


IN  CALIFORNIA  221 

seem  to  lie  in  appreciation  of  the  day  of  small  things 
and  the  exercise  of  a  rigid  economy.  In  a  dry  land 
where  months  ago  the  lush  vegetation  of  the  spring 
withered  and  gave  up  the  ghost,  these  gleaners  of 
the  later  year  find  still  some  moisture,  and  of  that 
little  they  waste  no  tittle.  As  the  watery  income 
through  the  roots  is  small,  every  jot  must  be  turned 
to  account,  and  all  unnecessary  leakage  stopped. 
That  is  common  sense  and  good  business — the  prin- 
ciple of  reducing  expenses  when  receipts  are  small — 
and  what  enables  the  tarweed  to  do  this  when  most 
other  plants  cannot,  is  the  coating  of  hair  and  gum- 
miness  that  excite  our  selfish  ire  as  we  tramp  ruth- 
lessly through  its  preserves.  This  covering  reduces 
to  a  minimum  the  evaporation  of  the  pittance  of 
water  which  the  plants  manage  to  suck  in,  holding 
it  inside  until  it  can  be  utilized  in  the  manufacture 
within  leaf  and  stem  of  the  elements  needed  for  life. 
I  confess  to  a  great  admiration  for  that  tarweed 
way  of  doing,  like  the  thrift  and  integrity  of  the 
self-respecting  human  poor.  Not  all  plants  are  of 
so  industrious  a  habit  of  life.  Some  are  downright 
pilferers,  sinking  their  roots  into  other  plants '  anat- 
omy and  extracting  their  juices,  as  a  pick-pocket 
relieves  a  man  in  the  street  of  his  week's  wages ;  and 
others,  like  the  "tomato-can  hobos"  of  city  gutters, 
live  on  the  decaying  refuse  of  the  woods — a  useful, 


222      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

scavenger  sort  of  existence,  if  you  will,  but  lacking 
somehow  in  the  dignity  of  earning  your  own  food 
and  preparing  it.  Of  this  gentry  are  two  rarities 
which  we  turned  up  at  different  times  in  our  sierra 
rambles.  There  was  a  certain  trout-haunted  brook 
in  the  forest  tangle,  which  lured  us  now  and  then 
of  an  evening,  and  on  one  of  our  jaunts,  the  Pro- 
fessor called  my  attention  to  some  upright  gleams 
of  light  in  a  little  darkling  dell  that  lay  just  off  the 
trail. 

"The  ghost-flower,"  he  remarked. 

Nothing  could  have  been  better  named — the  deli- 
cate slender  pencils  of  white  a  foot  high  or  more, 
seemed  indeed  like  sheeted  floral  phantoms.  From 
base  to  blossom-crowned  tip  they  were  as  colorless 
as  our  eastern  Indian  pipes.  On  examination  the 
plant  proved  to  be  an  orchid  (Cephalcmthera  Ore- 
gana),  and  fragrant  with  an  aroma  suggesting 
vanilla.  The  absolute  lack  of  green  is  of  course  due 
to  the  saprophytic  habit  of  the  plant,  which  feeds 
entirely  upon  the  decaying  substance  of  the  vege- 
table kingdom. 

In  a  similar  situation  among  dead  leaves  was  our 
other  find,  the  snow  plant  of  the  sierra  (Sar codes 
sanguinea) .  On  our  way  into  the  mountains  we  had 
seen  specimens  of  this  brilliantly  colored  parasite 
planted  in  lard  kettles  and  set  for  decoration  on  the 


IN  CALIFORNIA  223 

porches  of  mountain  cabins;  for  it  appears  to  be  a 
favorite  posy  with  mountaineers,  the  most  careless 
of  whom  could  hardly  fail  to  notice  it  flaming  up  at 
his  feet.  In  the  Yosemite  National  Park  it  is  now 
forbidden  to  pluck  it — a  wise  provision  as  the 
thoughtless  habit  of  many  people  to  tear  up  and 
kill  what  arrests  their  momentary  interest,  has 
threatened  to  exterminate  this  wonderful  plant  in 
the  neighborhood  of  the  Yosemite.  Club-like  and 
stocky  of  form,  it  is  not  of  much  appeal  in  any  par- 
ticular except  color ;  but  this  is  of  such  a  rich,  glow- 
ing crimson,  especially  when  lighted  up  in  the  sun- 
shine, that  the  most  stolid  can  hardly  fail  of  ad- 
miration. Finding  it  on  a  summer  day,  when  snow 
is  long  past,  one  is  disposed  to  question  the  correct- 
ness of  calling  it  snow  plant ;  yet  the  name  is  proper 
enough,  for  there  is  no  question  that  it  is  at  times  to 
be  seen  blooming  in  the  midst  of  snow.  In  high 
altitudes  many  flowers,  because  of  the  shortness  of 
the  season,  start  into  growth  and  blossom  at  the 
edge  of  melting  snow  banks,  and  the  snow  plant 
often  does  the  same.  A  belated  snow-fall — a  not 
unusual  occurrence  in  the  High  Sierras  even  in 
June — piling  about  such  plants,  would  give  the  effect 
of  their  having  actually  bloomed  in  the  snow.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  young  plants  have  been  ob- 
served to  have  pushed  above  the  ground  in  autumn, 


224       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

so  that  probably  but  a  few  days  of  suitable  weather 
in  the  spring  are  needed  to  open  the  flower.  Mr. 
Meehan  has  stated  on  the  authority  of  Dr.  C.  C. 
Parry,  that  miners  used  frequently  to  find  the  plants 
under  snow  slides.  A  denizen  of  coniferous  for- 
ests, the  Sarcodes  has  been  considered  a  parasite  on 
the  tree  roots,  but  there  is  evidence  that  it  may 
really  be  an  example  of  symbiosis — a  curious  part- 
nership with  some  fungus  which  in  return  for  board 
and  lodging,  acts  as  a  gatherer  and  preparer  of  ni- 
trogen for  its  host.  As  is  the  case  with  a  number 
of  plants  which  California  has  preempted  for  her 
own,  the  snow  plant  is  now  known  not  to  be  abso- 
lutely confined  to  the  State,  but  is  found  in  places 
across  the  border  in  Oregon  and  Nevada.  Neither, 
within  California,  is  it  limited  to  the  Sierra  Nevada, 
as  was  at  first  supposed,  but  is  often  met  with  as 
far  south  as  Mount  San  Jacinto. 

Some  plants,  as  is  well  known,  are  not  averse  to 
a  bit  of  meat  with  their  meals,  and  among  such  one 
of  the  strangest  is  the  California  pitcher-plant 
(Darlingtonia  Calif 'arnica),  which  occurs  in  moun- 
tain bogs  at  high  altitudes  in  the  northern  part  of 
the  State,  from  Truckee  Pass  to  the  Oregon  border. 
Its  most  remarkable  feature  is  the  character  of  the 
leaves.  These  are  hollow  and  tube-like,  enlarging 
upward,  and  attaining  a  height  varying  from  a  foot 


IN  CALIFORNIA  225 

and  half  to  nearly  a  yard.  At  the  summit  each  leaf 
expands  in  the  form  of  a  curious  dome-like  hood 
from  two  to  four  inches  in  diameter.  At  the  under 
side  of  this  dome,  which  is  mottled  with  translucent 
yellow  or  orange  spots,  is  a  small  opening  that  leads 
into  the  interior.  At  this  entrance  a  pair  of  narrow 
reddish  wings,  like  pennants,  are  fixed,  clothed  with 
stiff  hairs  pointing  towards  the  hole,  about  which 
a  sweet  secretion,  pleasant  to  insect  palates,  is 
temptingly  spread.  The  entire  leaf  along  one  outer 
side  is  pinched  up  into  a  ridge,  also  exuding  sweet- 
ness, that  leads  from  the  ground  to  the  opening  un- 
der the  dome — the  mouth  of  the  ogre's  den.  Was 
ever  a  more  alluring  device  to  draw  an  unsuspect- 
ing little  bug  to  his  ruin?  Accepting  the  invitation 
of  the  elevated  pathway  up  the  pitcher  an  ant  or 
other  leg-traveling  insect  by  and  by  arrives  at  the 
delectable  feast  of  sweets  spread  about  the  upper 
heights,  and  little  by  little  is  lured  within  the  dome. 
Insects  that  fly  are  attracted  by  the  brightness  of 
the  pennant-like  wings,  upon  which  alighting,  the 
downward-pointing  hairs  keep  them  traveling  until 
they,  too,  are  inside  the  dome.  Here  the  light  of 
the  vaulted  roof,  as  from  a  skylight,  makes  progress 
downward  more  cheerful  than  to  turn  backward 
through  the  dark  doorway;  besides  there  are  more 
hairs  pointing  downward.  So  downward  into 


226       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

Avernus  the  insect  proceeds,  until  suddenly  he 
drops  into  a  well  of  clear  liquid  that  fills  the  lower 
part  of  the  hollow  and  is  secreted  by  the  plant  for 
the  express  purpose  of  entrapping  him  and  his  like. 
Once  in  this  he  drowns  miserably  and  becomes  meat 
for  his  captor 's  consumption.  Leaf-tubes  six  inches 
deep  in  decaying  insects,  and  smelling  accordingly, 
have  been  collected;  and  Mr.  Henry  Edwards,  an 
entomologist  who  some  years  ago  recorded  the  re- 
sults of  his  researches,  stated  that  he  felt  convinced 
that  every  insect  order  in  California  was  repre- 
sented in  the  seething-pots  of  a  Darlingtonia 
kitchen.  Even  snails  are  sometimes  caught. 

Since  the  leaves  grow  in  clusters,  the  plant  is  very 
noticeable  at  a  considerable  distance,  resembling  as 
it  does,  so  many  erect  snakes  with  mottled-hooded 
heads.  It  was  this  showy  sort  of  advertisement  that 
was  responsible  for  its  first  discovery.  One  day  in 
October,  1841,  J.  D.  Brackenridge,  a  botanist  of  the 
Wilkes  Exploring  Expedition,  was  collecting  plants 
a  few  miles  south  of  Mount  Shasta  peak  on  the 
boggy  borders  of  a  tributary  of  the  upper  Sacra- 
mento River,  when  he  came  unexpectedly  upon  some 
Indians  whose  looks  he  thought  hostile.  Believing 
prudence  the  better  part  to  play,  he  set  out  at  a  run 
to  overtake  his  companions,  and  as  he  went  he 
caught  sight  of  this  strange  plant  at  which  he  made 


IN  CALIFORNIA  227 

a  clutch  en  passant.  When  he  reached  camp  and 
examined  what  he  had  caught  up,  it  proved  to  be 
parts  of  the  leafage  with  some  vestiges  of  seed  ves- 
sels but  no  flower.  It  was  enough,  nevertheless,  for 
John  Torrey  to  recognize  a  new  genus,  which 
he  named  in  honor  of  Dr.  William  Darlington,  an  old 
time  Pennsylvania  botanist.  In  1851,  Dr.  G.  W. 
Hulse  collected  the  plant  in  flower,  perhaps  at  the 
very  spot  where  Brackenridge  had  made  his  flying 
catch,  and  a  complete  description  for  the  first  time 
then  became  possible. 


IX 
BIBLE  PLANTS  IN  CALIFORNIA 

IN  its  physiography,  California  is  Palestine  mul- 
tiplied by  sixteen.  Both  are  relatively  long  and 
narrow,  extending  north  and  south,  with  lofty  moun- 
tains and  with  depressions  that  drop  in  some  cases 
below  sea  level.  In  each  there  is  a  fertile  coast 
country  bordering  a  western  sea,  upon  which  the 
mountains  look  down.  The  inland  valley  of  the 
Jordan  has  its  counterpart  in  California's  greater 
valley  of  the  San  Joaquin,  and  the  sink  of  the  Dead 
Sea  is  paralleled  in  a  way  by  our  terrible  Death 
Valley.  Deserts  to  the  south  and  east  hem  both 
lands  in.  So,  too,  in  climate,  California's  dry  sum- 
mer and  more  or  less  rainy  winter,  are  repeated  in 
Palestine;  and  according  to  Mr.  Aaron  Aaronsohn, 
Palestine's  most  famous  botanist,  the  flora  of  the 
Holy  Land  approximates  the  same  number  of  spe- 
cies as  that  of  the  Golden  State — about  three  thou- 
sand. "  There  are  many  other  points  of  similar- 
ity," to  quote  the  words  of  this  authority,1  "between 

i  "Agricultural  and  Botanical  Explorations  in  Palestine,"  Washing- 
ton D.  C.,  1910. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  229 

the  vegetation  of  California  and  that  of  Palestine. 
In  both  sections  evergreen  shrubs  predominate. 
The  same  forms  of  vegetation,  often  the  same  gen- 
era, are  found  on  Mount  Tamalpais,  California,  and 
on  Mount  Carmel,  Palestine ;  the  maqui  formation  of 
Palestine  is  to  be  compared  to  the  chaparral  and 
chamiso  of  California ;  and  the  forms  of  vegetation 
of  the  Lebanon  and  the  Hermon  mountains  are  much 
the  same  as  those  of  the  western  slope  of  the 
Sierras."  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  then,  that 
the  traveler  in  California  sees  in  field  and  garden 
many  an  introduced  shrub  and  tree  familiar  to  him 
through  the  Scriptures. 

When  the  first  soaking  rains  of  winter  have  turned 
to  emerald  the  round,  treeless  lomas  of  our  coast 
country,  the  Professor  likes  to  hitch  up  the  family 
horse  to  an  ancient  buckboard  that  he  owns,  and  go 
for  a  jog  among  the  ranches  that  lie  here  and  there 
in  the  dips  and  on  the  crests  of  the  foothills  that 
skirt  our  little  city.  Sometimes  he  invites  me  to 
accompany  him.  Gladly  we  leave  the  macadam  of 
the  urban  boulevards,  and  with  it  the  clang  of  elec- 
tric cars,  the  braying  horns  and  gasoline  fumes  of 
whizzing  motor-cars;  pass  the  last  of  the  million- 
aires' palaces  embowered  in  exotic  vines  and 
flowers ;  and  turn  into  an  old-fashioned  country  road. 
Mocking  birds  are  bubbling  over  with  riotous  song 


230      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

in  every  field;  meadowlarks  drop  their  ordered, 
liquid  melody  from  fence  rail  and  gate  post;  bees 
are  plundering  the  white  blossoms  that  swing  in 
clusters  from  the  blue-gum  boughs.  There  is  a 
whiff  of  mingled  violets  and  petunias  from  the  beds 
that  border  a  ranch  entrance,  and  roses,  white 
and  red,  are  blooming  in  the  hedge.  Far  off  in  the 
hills,  which  are  whitening  under  the  opening  blooms 
of  wild  lilac,  the  quails  are  calling ;  in  the  vineyards 
the  pruners  are  cutting  back  last  year's  branches  to 
two  eyes,  whistling  in  the  sunshine  as  they  work; 
and  plowmen  with  teams  of  six  or  eight  horses  are 
turning  up  the  dark  soil  for  the  barley  sowing.  The 
Professor  is  as  happy  as  a  schoolboy,  and  I  detect 
in  the  song  he  is  humming  a  bar  of  "I  love  you, 
California." 

Ahead  of  us  glows  a  hillside  which  owes  its  color 
to  the  ruddy  twigs  of  an  apricot  orchard  not  yet  in 
leaf.  The  Professor  points  to  it  and  observes: 

''With  all  that  has  been  said  about  the  apple  in 
the  Scriptures,  do  you  know  that  nobody  yet  can  tell 
just  what  fruit  is  meant  ?  Some  say  it  is  the  quince, 
some  the  citron,  and  there  are  others  who  claim  it 
was  really  the  apricot.  Certainly  this  has  been  a 
favorite  fruit  in  Syria  and  Palestine,  and  apricot- 
paste,  dried  in  the  sun,  softened  with  olive  oil,  and 
made  up  into  little  rolls,  is  one  of  the  famous  foods 


In  a  forest  of  native  fan  palms,  Palm  canon,  Calif. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  231 

of  the  Orient  that  Calif  ornians  might  well  adopt.  I 
like  the  apricot,  but  I  never  really  knew  the  taste  of 
a  fresh  one  till  I  came  to  the  Coast.  The  article  you 
buy  in  the  East  for  a  California  apricot  is  picked 
unmatured  in  order  to  carry  across  the  continent, 
and  is  not  in  the  same  class  as  the  luscious,  blush- 
ing little  fruits  that  drop  into  your  hand  when  you 
jar  them  fully  ripe  from  their  native  stems. ' ' 

So  gossiping,  we  top  the  hill  and  descend  into  a 
quiet  valley  where,  though  January  is  still  not  quite 
run  out,  an  orchard  is  enveloped  in  a  dainty  cloud  of 
pink  and  white  bloom  resting  lightly  upon  leafless 
branches.  There  is  no  doubt  about  these  trees — 
they  are  the  almond — frequently  mentioned  in  the 
Old  Testament,  of  whose  wood  Aaron's  rod  that 
blossomed  was  made,  and  whose  inflorescence  and 
nuts  were  wrought  by  Moses  into  the  gold  work  of 
the  candlestick  of  the  tabernacle.  It  is  the  earliest 
of  fruit  trees  to  flower,  and  because  of  its  haste  the 
young  nuts  are  apt  to  be  nipped  by  late  frosts. 
Passing  this  way  in  summer,  we  shall  see  the  green- 
jacketed  almonds  amid  the  leaves,  in  shape  and  look 
not  unlike  unripe  peaches.  They  are  indeed  cousins 
to  the  peach,  but  the  pulpy  part  instead  of  growing 
fatter  and  juicier  with  age,  becomes  thin  and  dry,  and 
at  maturity  splits  open,  releasing  the  nuts. 

4 'And  speaking  of  the  Bible,"  the  Professor  goes 


232      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

on,  as  we  turned  down  a  road  past  a  vineyard,  "the 
vines  mostly  grown  in  California  are  the  real  grape 
of  history,  coeval  with  Noah.  The  eastern  Con- 
cords, Delawares,  Niagaras  and  all  those  sorts  that 
pop  from  their  skins,  are  comparatively  recent  de- 
velopments of  native  American  species  found  in  the 
woodlands  of  the  Atlantic  seaboard.  The  Old 
World  stock,  the  Vitis  vinifera  of  botanists,  is  very 
different,  nor  will  it  stand  the  same  degree  of  frost 
as  the  American  varieties.  The  California  climate, 
however,  suits  it  perfectly,  and  the  old  Padres 
quickly  established  it  here.  The  variety  they 
planted  is  still  cultivated  in  California  and  is  called 
the  Mission  grape,  though  there  are  now  a  score  of 
other  European  sorts  besides.  It  bears,  at  its  best, 
enormous  bunches,  a  couple  of  feet  long,  which  re- 
mind one  of  the  famous  cluster  which  the  Israelitish 
spies  of  Moses  cut  in  the  Valley  of  Eshcol  and  two 
men  bore  between  them  on  a  staff.  They  were  prac- 
tically the  same  sort  as  our  Mission  kind — at  any 
rate  some  variety  of  Vitis  vinifera,  which  is  the 
grape  of  Palestine. 

"There  is  something  very  fascinating  to  me 
about  a  California  vineyard,  even  now  when  the 
vines  are  cut  back,  as  the  annual  custom  is,  to 
within  a  foot  or  two  of  the  ground,  so  that  there 
is  nothing  but  a  checker  board  of  black  stumps, 


IN  CALIFORNIA  233 

as  seemingly  lifeless  as  the  burnt  vineyards  of  the 
Philistines  must  have  been  after  the  fire-bearing 
foxes  of  Samson  had  overrun  them.  But  come 
along  in  summer  or  early  autumn  and  you  see  the 
same  vineyard  one  wide,  green  lake  of  billowy  vines 
bowing  to  the  ground — we  don't  usually  trellis  them 
here — and  the  grapes,  black  and  purple,  white  and 
red  and  amber,  glowing  and  gleaming  amid  the 
leaves;  and  when  you  put  one  in  your  mouth — a 
Black  Hamburg  or  Flaming  Tokay  or  Muscat  of 
Alexandria  or  Mission — it  takes  you,  or  it  does  me 
at  least,  right  back  to  the  youth  of  the  world;  for 
you  are  eating  the  fruit  of  the  same  stock  that  Noah 
set  out  when  he  began  to  be  an  husbandman  and 
planted  a  vineyard  there  by  Ararat. 

"  Of  course,  I  don't  mean  that  Noah  planted  these 
specific  varieties,"  explained  the  Professor,  drop- 
ping to  earth  again;  "but  they  are  developments 
from  that  ancient  stock.  The  father  of  modern 
grape  culture  in  California  was  a  Frenchman,  Jean 
Louis  Vignes,  who  turned  up  in  Los  Angeles  about 
1830,  liked  the  place,  settled,  lived  and  died  there. 
He  enjoys  the  doubtful  immortality  that  comes  to  a 
man  from  having  a  street  named  for  him — poor 
stuff,  for  not  one  person  in  ten  thousand  who  walks 
along  Vignes  Street  to-day  knows  why  it  has  such  a 
queer  name.  Vignes  saw  there  was  a  future  in  Cali- 


234       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

f  ornia  grapes  and  soon  supplemented  the  old  Mission 
stock  by  importations  of  other  varieties  of  Vitis 
vinifera  from  France.  The  scions  were  shipped 
from  France  to  Boston,  I  am  told,  and  thence  around 
the  Horn  in  sailing  vessels — hide  droghers,  doubt- 
less, such  as  Dana  tells  about  in  his  '  Two  Years  Be- 
fore the  Mast,'  which  traded  up  and  down  the  Coast 
in  those  days.  Vignes  was  a  popular  citizen  in  his 
time  and  lived  in  a  house  near  the  Los  Angeles  River 
with  a  fine  old  sycamore  tree  before  it,  of  which  he 
bragged  as  much  as  he  did  of  his  grape  vines.  The 
Spanish-America*!  word  for  sycamore  is  aliso,  and 
so  he  was  nicknamed  Don  Luis  del  Aliso.  The  tree 
is  long  since  swallowed  up  in  the  growth  of  the  city, 
but  its  memory  is  preserved  in  the  name  of  an  im- 
portant business  thoroughfare,  Aliso  Street.  Vig- 
nes believed  in  oranges,  too,  but  the  man  who  gave 
the  first  impetus  to  orange  culture  in  California  was 
a  Kentuckian  named  William  Wolf  skill,  who  landed 
in  Los  Angeles  about  the  same  time  as  Vignes.  He 
was  a  trapper  and  had  come  across  the  deserts,  ar- 
riving in  the  City  of  the  Angels  dead-broke.  Try- 
ing to  raise  money  to  get  away,  he  finally  realized 
California  was  a  good  enough  place  to  stay  in,  and 
turned  his  attention  to  horticulture,  particularly 
oranges,  starting  in  where  the  Padres  left  off.  He 
originated  a  budded  seedling  that  was  as  famous  in 


IN  CALIFORNIA  235 

its  day  as  the  Washington  Navel  is  now.  He  also 
went  in  for  grapes,  and  not  long  after  the  gold  dis- 
covery he  set  out  a  vineyard  in  the  Napa  Valley  as 
nearer  the  crack  market  of  those  days  than  Los 
Angeles,  and  began  selling  his  crop  in  San  Francisco 
at  $25  a  cental  wholesale.  He  told  Major  Horace 
Bell,  'I  am  now  realizing  a  boyhood  dream  of  a  coun- 
try where  money  grows  on  bushes.  Selling  grapes 
at  two  bits  a  pound  is  as  near  picking  money  from 
bushes  as  any  business  I  know  of.'  " 

As  he  turns  the  horse's  head  homeward,  the  Pro- 
fessor flicks  with  his  whip  a  clump  of  flat- jointed 
cactus  that  sprawls  by  the  roadside. 

"They  tell  me  that's  a  plant  nowadays  abundant 
in  Palestine,"  he  chuckles,  "but  the  Bible  is  silent 
about  it.  Maybe  you  know  that  cactuses  never 
reached  the  Old  World  until  after  Columbus  dis- 
covered them  in  America?  Ignorance  of  that  fact 
has  fooled  many  an  artist  into  working  prickly-pear 
plants  into  Syrian  desert  pictures  along  with  the 
Holy  Family." 

The  frequent  presence  of  the  olive  in  the  Cali- 
fornia landscape,  particularly  in  the  south,  does 
much  to  give  to  the  region  its  Old  World  look,  and 
brings  constantly  to  mind  the  imagery  of  the  Old 
Testament  as  one  travels  amidst  the  peculiar  beauty 
of  these  trees  of  ancientest  lineage,  emblematic  to 


236       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

the  Hebrews  of  prosperity  and  the  blessing  of  God. 
"  Happy  shalt  thou  be  and  it  shall  be  well  with 
thee  .  .  .  thy  children  like  olive  plants  round 
about  thy  table;"  and  it  was  a  green  olive  leaf 
brought  to  the  Ark  by  the  returning  dove,  that  was 
to  the  Noachian  company  the  promise  of  better  times 
at  hand.  The  peculiar  ashen-green  foliage,  persist- 
ing throughout  the  year,  causes  an  olive-yard  to  be 
readily  picked  out  from  surrounding  trees,  even  at 
a  long  distance;  and  one  to  whom  the  Bible  narra- 
tives are  precious,  finds  in  the  atmosphere  of  olive 
groves — even  the  comparatively  young  ones  of  Cali- 
fornia— gardens  of  sacred  memories.  The  ripe 
fruit  is  a  bright,  glossy  black  berry,  and  singularly 
tempting  in  looks,  but  the  taste  is  intensely  bitter 
and  astringent,  and  one  wonders  that  a  process  to 
make  an  olive  edible  should  ever  have  been  discov- 
ered. Among  Californians  the  prepared  ripe  olive 
is  generally  preferred  to  the  green,  and  with  a  rea- 
son— being  tenderer  and  more  digestible,  as  well  as 
exceedingly  nutritious. 

That  eminence  of  holy  memory  near  Jerusalem, 
called  because  of  the  abundance  of  its  olive  planta- 
tions, the  Mount  of  Olives,  was  hardly  less  famous 
in  ancient  times  for  another  tree  which  is  plentiful 
in  cultivation  in  our  Land  of  Sunshine — the  fig. 
This  is  one  of  the  most  majestic  of  our  orchard  trees, 


IN  CALIFORNIA  237 

and  although  perhaps  no  specimen  now  standing  in 
the  State  is  much  over  sixty  years  old,  one  encoun- 
ters here  and  there,  in  Central  California  particu- 
larly, trees  a  yard  through  at  the  base  and  with 
crowns  casting  a  shade  fifty  or  sixty  feet  in  diameter. 
The  most  famous  of  these  great  figs  is  one  planted 
in  1851  on  General  Bidwell's  Eancho  Chico  in  the 
Sacramento  Valley.  Colonel  C.  C.  Eoyce,  formerly 
manager  of  the  ranch,  informs  me  that  measure- 
ments of  this  tree  taken  a  few  years  ago,  showed  it 
to  have  a  trunk  circumference  at  base  of  12  feet,  8 
inches,  a  height  of  75  feet,  and  a  spread  of  branches 
of  115  feet  to  118  feet.  One  of  the  principal  limbs 
measured  about  two  feet  in  diameter.  This  remark- 
able tree,  which  is  still  standing  though  now  be- 
cause of  infirmities  in  the  hands  of  the  tree  doctors, 
had  the  habit  of  extending  its  lower  branches  down- 
ward until  they  touched  the  ground.  There  taking 
root,  they  followed  the  example  of  the  parent  stock, 
dropping  branches  to  the  earth  in  their  turn,  and 
doubtless  the  tree  would  have  continued  indefinitely 
so  spreading,  had  progress  not  been  curtailed  by 
pruning. 

It  behooves  one,  then,  who  plants  a  fig  tree  in  his 
garden,  as  people  all  over  California  like  to  do,  to 
give  it  plenty  of  elbow  room — a  radius  of  twenty  feet 
all  about  it  being  none  too  much.  These  great  old 


238       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

figs  with  their  generous  summer  shade  and  suc- 
cessive abounding  crops  of  fruit  that  begin  in  early 
summer  and  continue  until  late  in  the  autumn,  are 
among  the  pleasantest  features  of  California 
ranches.  I  have  in  mind,  as  I  write,  one  that  stood 
by  the  dwelling  of  a  rancher  in  the  Santa  Clara 
Valley,  whose  hospitality  I  once  enjoyed.  The 
tree's  ample  spread  of  foliage  was  as  impervious  to 
the  sun  as  a  shingle  roof,  and  a  cool  draught  seemed 
always  passing  through.  All  the  warm,  rainless 
summer  the  family  utilized  its  shade  as  a  dining  hall 
and  living  room.  The  long  table  was  always  there, 
and  chairs  and  hammocks.  Meals  eaten  in  that  nat- 
ural bower  brought  a  realization  of  the  peace  and 
security  which  the  ancient  Hebrews  associated  so 
peculiarly  with  dwelling  under  one's  own  vine  and 
fig  tree;  and  when  the  cool  nights  and  rains  of  au- 
tumn came,  the  leaves  fell,  letting  the  blessed  winter 
sunshine  into  the  house. 

There  are  several  varieties  of  fig  planted  in  Cali- 
fornia but  none  seems  more  popular  than  the  black 
Mission  stock  of  the  Spanish  Franciscan's  intro- 
duction, though  its  fruit  does  not  dry  so  well  as  the 
Smyrna  sorts  of  more  recent  setting  out,  and  such 
as  are  caprified.  The  dweller  in  the  land  of  the  fig- 
tree,  however,  does  not  wait  for  the  drying.  He 
plucks  the  fresh  fruit  when  dead-ripe — not  till 


IN  CALIFORNIA  239 

then  is  its  full  sweetness  developed — peels  back  the 
outer  skin  and  without  further  parley  plumps  the 
rosy,  seedy,  mushy  pulp  into  his  watering  mouth. 
The  fresh  fig  possesses  a  mild,  sweet  taste — mawk- 
ish, you  may  think  it,  at  first — which,  until  the  pal- 
ate is  accustomed  to  it,  is  made  more  attractive  by 
the  addition  of  cream  and  sugar  when  served  at 
table.  That  the  old  Israelites  must  have  enjoyed 
the  fresh  fig,  too,  is  attested  by  that  striking  figure 
of  the  Prophet  Nahum:  "All  thy  fortresses  shall 
be  like  fig-trees  with  the  first-ripe  figs;  if  they  be 
shaken,  they  fall  into  the  mouth  of  the  eater." 

Another  typical  fruit  of  the  Bible  is  the  pome- 
granate. It,  too,  thrives  well  in  California — a  land 
which  indeed  conforms  markedly  to  that  ancient 
word  to  Israel:  " Jehovah,  thy  God,  brought  thee 
into  a  good  land  ...  of  vines  and  fig  trees  and 
pomegranates."  "A  garden  shut  up  is  my  sis- 
ter .  .  ." — so  runs  the  Song  of  Songs — "thy  shoots 
are  an  orchard  of  pomegranates,  with  precious 
fruits."  The  Spanish  settlers  in  Southern  Cali- 
fornia had  an  oriental  fondness  for  the  pome- 
granate— granada  they  called  it — and  it  is  an  in- 
habitant of  most  old-time  gardens,  a  shrub  or  small 
tree  beautiful  at  all  seasons  except  winter,  when  it 
is  leafless.  In  spring  and  early  summer  the  glossy 
green  foliage  glows  here  and  there  with  the  fire  of 


240      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

the  brilliant  scarlet  flowers,  which  are  succeeded  in 
autumn  by  the  hard-husked,  rusty-orange  fruit, 
bending  the  branches.  Often,  as  one  travels  coun- 
try roads,  neglected  bushes  of  it  are  passed  by  the 
road  side,  the  remnant  of  some  ancient  hedge — a  use 
to  which  the  pomegranate,  like  the  lime  now  rarely 
seen,  was  frequently  put  in  the  old  days  of  cheap 
land.  Present-day  Californians  neglect  the  fruit  al- 
most entirely,  in  spite  of  the  refreshing  juiciness  of 
the  thin  watery  pulp,  which  in  taste  is  somewhat  like 
red  currants  with  a  dash  of  astringency.  Perhaps 
the  abundance  of  other  fruits  not  so  exceedingly  full 
of  seeds,  causes  this  indifference,  notwithstanding 
the  pomegranate's  very  great  value  for  making  into 
a  beverage  peculiarly  grateful  in  a  warm  climate. 
Among  Spanish-Calif ornians,  Father  0 'Sullivan 
tells  me,  a  favorite  postre  or  dessert  was  a  heaping 
plateful  of  fresh  pomegranate  seeds  scooped  from 
the  rind  and  served  with  sugar.  Pomegranates  were 
also  laid  away  on  the  fruit-shelf  of  the  house 
to  dry,  as  apples  back  East  are  spread  on  the  attic 
floor;  and  in  winter,  though  the  rind  was  hard  and 
withered,  the  seeds  were  still  juicy  and  refreshing 
and  were  sucked  out  through  a  hole  broken  in  the 
rind.  With  the  lover  of  pure  beauty,  the  pome- 
granate tree  is  always  a  favorite.  The  exquisite 
coloring  of  the  lovely  buds  and  of  the  crumpled 


IN  CALIFORNIA  241 

petals,  as  well  as  of  the  fruit  both  without  and 
within,  exert  an  irresistible  appeal  to-day  as  they 
did  to  the  artists  of  old  who  sculptured  the  pome- 
granate's forms  upon  Solomon's  temple  and  em- 
broidered them  into  the  hem  of  Aaron's  priestly 
vestment. 

A  trim,  little  Syrian  tree  which  is  met  with  in 
increasing  abundance  in  California  is  the  carob,  the 
Ceratonia  siliqua  of  the  botanists.  It  has  a  cheer- 
ful crown  of  leathery  pinnate  leaves,  and  bears — 
at  least,  the  pistillate  trees  do — those  flat,  chestnut- 
colored  pods  that  city  street  venders  of  fruit  some- 
times have  in  their  stock  under  the  name  of  St. 
John's  bread.  So  far  its  principal  use  in  Cali- 
fornia is  as  an  ornamental  shade  tree,  but  the  pos- 
sibilities of  its  bean-like  pods  for  horse  and  cattle 
feed  put  it  in  the  class  of  economic  plants  of  value. 
In  Palestine,  where  the  carob  tree  grows  wild,  and 
in  the  Mediterranean  region  generally,  the  sugary 
legumes  have  been  fed  from  time  immemorial  to 
domestic  animals,  which  fatten  on  them.  To  the 
lover  of  romance  in  plant  life,  the  tree's  especial 
claim  to  interest  lies  in  the  probability  that  "the 
husks  that  the  swine  did  eat"  mentioned  in  the 
parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son,  were  pods  of  the 
carob  tree;  and  an  old  tradition  credits  it  with 
being  the  tree  that  Judas  hanged  himself  upon. 


242      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

Also  connected  with  the  personality  of  the  Scrip- 
tures is  a  reedy  looking  plant  with  shaggy  grass- 
like  heads,  often  grown  in  California  gardens 
for  ornament — the  paper  reed  of  antiquity  (Papy- 
rus antiquorum).  Egypt  taught  the  ancient  world 
to  make  books  out  of  this.  The  pith  was  ex- 
tracted, cut  into  strips,  and  these  laid  side  by  side 
with  others  crosswise  upon  them,  were  subjected  to 
soaking  and  pressure.  Thus  were  produced  sheets 
of  writing  paper  upon  which  biblia  or  books  were 
inscribed,  sheet  being  glued  to  sheet  end  to  end  and 
all  rolled  together  as  a  scroll.  This  reed  once  grew 
abundantly  at  the  marshy  borders  of  lakes  and 
streams  in  Egypt,  as  it  does  to-day  in  Palestine  and 
Abyssinia;  and  it  was  no  doubt  of  this  plant  that 
the  ark  of  "bulrushes"  was  made  in  which  the 
mother  of  Moses  placed  him  and  hid  him  away  by 
the  river's  brink,  where  afterwards  the  daughter  of 
Pharaoh  was  to  find  him. 

Ancient  Palestine  was  famous  for  the  delicious- 
ness  of  its  dates,  and  the  palms  of  the  Bible  were 
Phoenix  dactylifera — date-palms,  under  three  score- 
and-ten  of  which  by  the  twelve  wells  of  Elim,  the 
Israelites  of  the  exodus  once  pitched  their  tents. 
It  was  the  date  palm  which  the  Psalmist  meant, 
when  he  declared  "the  righteous  shall  flourish  like 


IN  CALIFORNIA  243 

the  palm  tree:"  and  it  was  with  branches  of  the 
date  palm  that  the  people  saluted  our  Saviour  upon 
his  triumphal  journey  to  Jerusalem.  The  cultiva- 
tion of  this  tree  in  California,  while  undertaken  in 
a  limited  way  by  the  Franciscan  Missionaries,  has 
assumed  commercial  importance  only  in  the  last  few 
years,  due  to  the  discovery  that  its  fruit  can  be  suc- 
cessfully matured  in  certain  sections  of  the  Colorado 
Desert — notably  a  narrow  depression  somewhat  be- 
low sea  level  in  the  desert  portion  of  Riverside 
County,  known  as  the  Coachella  Valley.  The  cul- 
tivation of  the  date  there  has  now  passed  beyond 
the  experimental  stage,  and  considerable  areas  are 
being  given  over  to  the  planting  of  a  large  assort- 
ment of  varieties,  the  offsets  for  which  have  been 
secured  from  the  groves  of  Arabia  and  Africa.  At 
Mecca  by  the  Salton  Sea,  for  instance,  or  at  Indio, 
both  on  the  line  of  the  Southern  Pacific  Railway, 
the  observant  traveler  may  catch  sight,  even  out  of 
the  car  window,  of  the  evidences  of  this  thriving 
young  industry  in  its  various  stages  from  the  cul- 
tivation of  the  small  plants  set  in  rows  like  so  much 
corn,  to  the  bearing  trees  heavy  in  autumn  with 
golden  clusters  of  fruit — an  industry  that  carries 
the  imagination  back  to  the  genesis  of  man,  for  the 
Arab  tradition  is  that  the  first  date  palm  was  made 


244       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

from  the  clay  left  over  after  the  creation  of  Adam, 
and  thus  became  the  uncle  of  mankind.2 

2  Quoted  in  "Date  Growing  in  the  Old  World  and  the  New,"  by 
Paul  B.  Popenoe. 


xn 

BLOSSOM  TIME  IN  THE  ORCHARDS 

WITH  the  growth  of  a  human  population,  it  is 
inevitable  that  the  plants  of  the  wind's  way- 
ward sowing  shall  be  pushed  farther  and  farther 
afield  and  much  wild  beauty  be  buried  by  the  plow 
forever.  As  we  look  to-day  from  our  car  window 
at  the  cultivated  plains  of  the  San  Joaquin,  given 
over  now  to  barley  and  alfalfa,  peaches  and  grapes 
and  dairies,  we  sigh  to  think  of  that  former  day, 
even  yet  remembered  by  old  inhabitants,  which  John 
Muir  has  nobly  pictured  for  us  in  "The  Mountains 
of  California."  "The  Great  Central  Plain,"  he 
writes,  "during  the  months  of  March,  April  and 
May,  was  one  smooth,  continuous  bed  of  honey- 
bloom.  .  .  .  Mints,  gilias,  nemophilas,  castilleias 
and  innumerable  compositae  were  so  crowded  to- 
gether that,  had  ninety-nine  per  cent,  of  them  been 
taken  away,  the  plain  would  still  have  seemed  to 
any  but  Californians  extravagantly  flowery.  .  .  . 
The  air  was  sweet  with  fragrance,  the  larks  sang 
their  blessed  songs,  rising  on  the  wing  as  I  ad- 

245 


246      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

vanced,  then  sinking  out  of  sight  in  the  polleny  sod ; 
while  myriads  of  wild  bees  stirred  the  lower  air 
with  their  monotonous  hum — monotonous,  yet  for- 
ever fresh  and  sweet  as  everyday  sunshine/' 

Yet  man's  spoliation  of  the  kingdom  of  the  wild  is 
not  all  unattended  by  beauty.  Beauty  is  an  immor- 
tal goddess;  vanishing  here,  she  reappears  there; 
and  nowhere  is  she  more  sure  of  being  found  than 
in  gardens  and  in  orchards.  If  California  has  lost 
some  of  the  aboriginal  loveliness  that  clothed  her 
fertile  valleys  before  the  white  occupation,  she  has 
but  put  on  another  charm  in  her  cultivated  areas, 
soberer  but  still  very  appealing.  No  sight  in  the 
State  is  more  entrancing  than  the  annual  bloom- 
ing of  the  orchards,  which  is  made  the  more  effective 
by  the  custom  of  the  orchardists  to  specialize  in 
different  districts.  In  the  valleys  of  the  south,  for 
instance,  are  mile  upon  mile  of  citrus-fruit  trees; 
in  the  San  Joaquin  is  the  stronghold  of  the  peach 
and  the  nectarine;  the  Sacramento  Valley  is  the 
principal  home  of  the  pear;  in  the  Pajaro  Valley, 
apple  is  king;  the  prune  and  the  apricot  share  the 
throne  in  Santa  Clara  County.  The  result  is  the 
beauty  of  the  single  peach  or  plum  or  pear  which 
everybody  knows  the  world  over  and  makes  much 
of  in  a  spring  ramble,  multiplied  literally  by  mil- 
lions— an  ocean  of  one  kind  of  blossoms  spread  over 


Photoeraph  b)  H.  A.  Parirr 

Jacaranda   tree  in   an   orange   grove 


IN  CALIFORNIA  247 

square  miles  in  an  all  but  unbroken  sheet  of  color. 
Beginning  with  the  blooming  of  the  almonds, 
which  may  occur  in  January,  though  it  is  not  to  be 
usually  counted  upon  until  February,  the  orchards 
reach  the  high  tide  of  their  bloom  about  the  first  of 
April.  To  most  tourists  the  prince  of  the  fruit  trees 
is  the  orange.  The  apricot  and  the  prune  are  only 
varieties  of  the  plum,  the  nectarine  and  the  almond 
forms  of  the  peach,  and  there  is  nothing  particularly 
novel  in  the  sight  of  a  plum  tree  or  a  peach  tree; 
but  the  orange  to  the  New  Englander  or  the  Middle 
Westerner  is  a  fruit  of  romance.  To  pick  your 
first  ripe  orange  with  your  own  fingers  from  a  tree 
loaded  with  two  or  three  thousand  more — a  tree 
growing  not  in  a  tub  in  a  greenhouse  but  rooted  out- 
doors in  the  ground  like  an  apple  tree — is  in  itself 
a  poetic  sort  of  experience  to  be  talked  about  long 
afterwards  around  the  winter  fire  back  East.  To 
quarter  the  lump  of  lusciousness  with  your  penknife, 
bite  the  fragrant,  juicy  heart  out  of  each  quarter 
section  and  prodigally  toss  the  rest  away,  is  to  have 
a  touch  of  what  it  feels  like  to  be  a  millionaire ;  but 
to  drive  on  a  day  in  March  along  a  country  road 
where  the  sunshine  lies  warm  and  the  larks  and 
mocking  birds  are  singing,  and  where  behind  rose- 
hedges  are  unnumbered  orange  trees,  crowned  like 
brides  for  their  bridal  with  myriads  of  starry,  per- 


248       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

fumed  blossoms  while  yet  the  golden  spheres  of 
fruit  are  thick  upon  them,  or  to  saunter  through  a 
grove  when  the  petals  are  dropping  and  lodging  in 
your  hair  and  on  your  shoulders  and  whitening  all 
the  earth  about  you — that  is  to  feel  yourself  set 
down  in  the  orchard  of  the  Hesperides,  and  the 
Greek  fable  does  not  seem  much  of  a  myth  after 
all.  It  is  a  month  or  more  from  the  time  the  blos- 
soms begin  to  open  until  the  last  have  fallen,  and 
all  that  time  the  groves  are  a  succession  of  mam- 
moth bouquets  of  fragrance  making  delight  for  all 
who  visit  the  orange-growing  districts.  Then,  there 
are  the  lemon  groves,  equally  fragrant,  but  the 
lemon,  unlike  the  orange,  which  flowers  only  once 
in  a  twelvemonth,  distributes  its  bloom  more  or  less 
throughout  the  year.  The  culture  of  the  orange 
used  to  be  confined  practically  to  Southern  Cali- 
fornia, but  it  is  being  pushed  farther  and  farther 
north  in  the  interior  valleys  of  the  State,  and  it  is 
now  grown  from  San  Diego  to  the  upper  Sacra- 
mento, though  the  south  is  still  the  undisputed  cen- 
ter of  the  industry.  Curiously  enough  the  fruit 
ripens  fully  a  month  earlier  in  the  north  than  in 
the  south,  because  of  the  greater  summer  heat  of 
the  northern  inland  valleys,  which  are  shut  off  by  the 
Coast  mountains  from  the  tempering  influence  of 
the  sea. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  249 

Beautiful  as  is  the  blooming  of  the  citrus-fruit 
trees,  the  glory  of  it  would  be  greater  if  it  came 
upon  leafless  branches.  As  it  is,  the  heavy,  dark 
green  foliage  breaks  up  what  would  otherwise  be  a 
solid  mass  of  white,  and  somewhat  dims  the  gen- 
eral effect.  The  flowers  of  most  deciduous  fruits, 
on  the  other  hand,  come  before  the  leaves,  and  turn 
the  tree  for  the  nonce  into  a  huge  posy  of  solid 
white  or  pink.  The  effect  of  square  miles  of  fertile 
valleys  and  foothill  slopes  so  draped  in  ethereal 
color  is  indescribable,  and  has  caught  the  popular 
fancy  of  Californians  to  such  an  extent  that  in  the 
fruit-growing  districts  the  blossoming  of  the  trees 
is  becoming  a  time  of  festival.  The  Santa  Clara 
Valley,  for  instance,  which  extends  for  fifty  miles 
southward  from  the  head  of  San  Francisco  Bay, 
with  a  width  of  fifteen  or  twenty,  is  practically  given 
over  to  orchards  of  deciduous  fruits.  Of  the  five 
million  bearing  trees  in  this  beautiful  valley,  fa- 
mous from  early  Mission  days  for  its  fertility,  three 
and  a  half  million  are  prunes  and  there  is  besides  a 
considerable  sprinkling  of  pears  and  cherries.  The 
rest,  something  over  a  million  trees,  are  apricots 
and  peaches.  After  the  blooming  of  the  latter 
usually  in  early  March,  a  very  pretty  display  in  it- 
self, the  real  blossom  show  occurs — the  flowering  of 
the  prunes,  the  pears  and  the  cherries,  which  is  si- 


250       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

multaneous  and  occurs  in  late  March  or  early  April. 
A  few  days  of  warm  weather,  and  it  starts  with  a 
rush,  and  the  whole  countryside  is  veiled  in  white. 
Mile  after  mile  the  roads  carry  you  past  orchards 
where  every  tree  is  garlanded,  festooned  and 
swathed  in  a  gauzy  raiment  that  seems  let  down 
from  heaven — so  pure  and  daintily  fragrant  it  is, 
so  glorified  in  the  sun.  That  it  should  have  burst 
from  gnarled  and  knotty  limbs,  but  now  bare  and 
brown,  is  miracle  enough  to  cure  the  doubting 
Thomas  in  the  most  unregenerate  of  us,  if  we  would 
but  heed.  It  is  not  a  case  of  just  here  and  there  an 
orchard,  exquisite  as  that  would  be,  but  it  is  the 
cumulative  effect  of  hundreds  of  orchards  and  mil- 
lions of  trees  in  perfect  efflorescence  that  awakes  the 
American  enthusiasm  in  Santa  Clara's  blossom 
time;  and  when  the  news  reaches  San  Francisco 
and  the  various  cities  clustered  about  the  Bay,  every- 
body with  an  automobile,  or  failing  that  with 
change  for  carfare, — electric  and  steam  roads  tra- 
verse the  valley  in  many  directions — gathers  up 
wife  and  children  and  sets  out  the  next  Saturday 
afternoon  or  Sunday,  to  see  the  wonderful  sight. 
Skirting  meadows  starred  with  buttercups,  and  top- 
ping green  hills  where  myriads  of  blue  lupines  and 
orange  poppies  revel  in  the  sun;  spinning  along 
level  avenues  athwart  which  now  and  again  shadows 


IN  CALIFORNIA  251 

lie,  flung  by  rows  of  giant  eucalypts  and  by  huge 
Monterey  cypresses  all  golden-dusted  with  their 
lilliputian  bloom;  out  into  emerald  valleys  where 
cattle  graze  and  the  coast  live-oaks  stand  in  the 
same  majesty  that  compelled  Vancouver's  admira- 
tion a  century  and  a  quarter  ago;  past  the  old 
palaces  of  Bonanza  Kings  and  through  Burlingame 
and  San  Mateo,  Menlo  Park  and  Palo  Alto,  with 
riot  of  roses  and  wisteria  wreathing  gate-posts  and 
cascading  over  roofs  and  balconies — they  find  it  a 
pleasant  road  to  travel,  even  though  there  were  no 
feast  of  flowers  awaiting  them  in  the  orchards  of 
Santa  Clara. 

In  the  foothills  at  the  western  edge  of  the  valley, 
is  the  village  of  Saratoga.  Half  a  generation  ago 
after  three  successive  seasons  of  heart-breaking 
drought  that  had  all  but  drained  the  country  of  its 
last  dollar,  the  coming  around  of  normal  conditions 
inspired  the  orchardists  of  the  vicinity  to  commem- 
orate the  return  of  fruitfulness  with  some  special 
ceremonies.  So  they  instituted  what  they  call  Blos- 
som Day,  which  now  for  fifteen  years  has  been  cele- 
brated every  spring  on  the  oak-fringed  village  green, 
at  the  time  of  the  blooming  of  the  prunes.  From 
far  and  wide,  the  residents  of  the  Valley  and  their 
visiting  friends  come  to  the  festival  in  electric  car 
and  automobile,  by  ranch  wagon  and  on  horseback, 


252       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

Americans  and  British,  Italians  and  Portuguese, 
Spanish-Californians  and  Japanese — eighteen  or 
twenty  thousand  of  them  in  1914,  according  to  local 
count,  which  probably  got  them  all.  It  is  really  a 
multitudinous  sort  of  picnic,  with  country  sports 
and  a  merry-go-round,  a  procession  of  floats  decked 
out  with  blossoms  and  pretty  girls,  and  speech-mak- 
ing from  a  platform  under  a  massive  live  oak.  The 
unique  thing  about  it  is  that  to  get  there  you  must 
ride  through  a  veritable  sea  of  snowy  blossoms,  and 
there  is  no  way  home  except  by  the  same  white  way. 
After  the  blossom,  the  fruit;  and  in  the  waning 
year  comes  the  harvesting  of  the  crop,  which  gives 
another  sort  of  picturesqueness  to  the  Valley  in 
late  summer  and  the  early  autumn.  It  is  a  pretty 
picture — the  crowds  of  pickers  in  the  peach  and 
apricot  trees,  the  hauling  of  the  fruit  in  boxes  piled 
high  on  ranch  wagons  to  the  open  airy  sheds  where 
women  and  girls  sit  at  long  tables  to  halve  and  pit 
it,  and  lay  it  in  shallow  trays  that  are  spread  on 
the  ground  for  the  sun  to  do  the  rest ;  and  every  year 
many  a  city  girl  gets  in  this  way  a  couple  of  weeks 
of  wholesome  outdoor  living  and  a  little  extra 
money.  The  prunes,  however,  may  not  be  picked 
from  the  tree,  but  from  the  ground,  as  it  is  a  fruit 
that,  to  ensure  a  maximum  of  sweetness,  must  be 
allowed  to  stay  on  the  limb  until  Nature  gives  the 


IN  CALIFORNIA  253 

word  to  drop.  Children  therefore  can  gather 
prunes  as  capably  as  grown-ups,  and  so  the  work 
engages  whole  families.  Much  of  the  rural  popula- 
tion of  Central  California  is  Italian,  and  upon  such 
labor — some  of  it  women  and  children  brought  out 
for  the  occasion  from  the  towns  and  cities — the  or- 
chardists  depend  for  their  pickers.  Tents  are 
pitched  in  the  orchards,  cook  stoves  set  up,  and  the 
family  life  is  transferred  thither  for  the  month  or 
so  that  the  picking  lasts;  for  it  is  a  leisurely  busi- 
ness and  the  trees  are  not  shaken  except  to  get  the 
tag  end  of  the  yield.  It  is  an  Arcadian  sort  of  labor 
under  the  open  sky  before  the  rains  are  due,  and 
fittingly  carried  forward  with  the  accompaniment  of 
children's  laughter  and  the  songs  of  Italy. 

"Makes  a  fellow  feel  like  going  into  the  business," 
I  said  to  the  Professor. 

"Well,"  he  replied,  "fruit  raising  in  California 
is  a  good  business — if  you  run  it  right.  Don't  make 
the  mistake,  though,  of  thinking  the  climate  does  it 
all.  Lots  of  lazy  shallow-pates  have  gone  into  it  on 
that  basis  and  landed  in  the  sheriff's  office.  It  takes 
brains  in  California  the  same  as  anywhere  else,  and 
some  capital;  bugs  and  fungus  and  once  in  so  often 
an  untimely  frost  or  hot  spell,  will  keep  both  busy. 
There  are  deciduous  fruit  ranches  in  the  Santa  Clara 
Valley  you  couldn't  touch  at  a  thousand  dollars 


254,       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

an  acre;  they're  worth  that  as  income  property  to 
the  owners;  and  I  can  show  you  lemon  and  orange 
groves  around  Los  Angeles  that  pay  twenty-five  per 
cent,  on  two  thousand  an  acre  in  good  years.  But 
let  me  tell  you,  my  boy,  we're  seeing  the  good  end  of 
it.  It's  wonderfully  fine  now  to  feast  your  eye  on 
square  miles  of  practically  unbroken  orchards,  and 
feed  your  poetic  soul  on  the  fragrance  of  orange 
blossoms;  but  thirty  years  ago  it  was  a  different 
matter.  This  paradise  that  entrances  us  now  has 
been  bought  with  hard  work  and  money  at  ten  per 
cent.,  and  the  blood  of  millions  of  gophers  and  jack 
rabbits.  I  put  my  money  on  oranges,  and  the  little 
trees  the  size  of  a  walking  stick  cost  us  two  to  three 
dollars  apiece.  Well,  sir,  those  orange  roots  were 
something  new  to  the  gopher  palate  but  the  quality 
in  their  estimation  was  superfine.  We'd  go  out  on 
the  dewy  summer  mornings  to  size  up  the  growth 
over  night — the  real  estate  people  had  posted  us 
about  the  rapidity  of  growth  in  California — and 
we  'd  notice  a  wilting  tree. 

"  *  Needs  water,'  we'd  think,  and  give  it  some. 
Next  day,  more  wilt.  'Queer,'  we'd  think,  and  give 
it  a  shake.  Over  it  would  go,  not  a  root  to  it. 
Gophered,  and  three  dollars  gone.  I  tell  you  it 
kept  a  man  busy  setting  gopher  traps  in  those  days, 
and  poisoning.  Why,  every  rancher  then  carried 


IN  CALIFORNIA  255 

raisins  stuffed  with  strychnine  in  his  vest  pocket 
as  a  matter  of  course  along  with  his  toothpick  and 
matches,  to  drop  into  the  gopher  runs.  Then  the 
jack  rabbits!  "We've  a  few  left  now,  but  they're 
degenerates  compared  with  their  grandfathers.  It 
seems  to  me  now  they  were  as  big  as  foxes  with  ears 
like  mules,  and  they'd  stand  on  their  hind  legs  and 
eat  the  bark  off  trees  as  high  as  they  could  reach, 
and  you  know  a  jack  rabbit  has  considerable  reach 
of  hind  leg  let  alone  all  that's  before  it.  Every 
tree  had  to  be  wrapped  around  with  old  cloths  or 
something  while  we  had  the  boys  shooting  off  the 
rabbits.  Then,  of  course,  frost  caught  us  once  in  a 
while,  for  we  knew  nothing  of  smudging,  and  some 
years  water  was  scarce.  It  was  all  very  different 
from  the  way  it  had  been  figured  out  for  us  on  paper 
back  East.  But,  bless  you,  we  worried  through — 
the  climate  was  fine — and  we  helped  one  another  like 
good  neighbors  and  joyed  and  sorrowed  together, 
and  learned  in  the  school  of  experience  a  whole  lot 
that  is  commonplace  to  the  rancher  to-day;  and 
that's  why  I  say  we  are  seeing  the  good  end  of  it." 


XIII 

SOME  CHARACTERISTIC  GARDEN  FLOWERS 
AND  SHRUBS 


are  certain  sensations  that  come  to  you 
JL  but  once  in  a  lifetime.  One  is  the  joy  of  your 
first  ocean  trip;  another  is  the  rapture  which  takes 
you  when,  having  slipped  away  from  the  wintry  and 
slushy  East,  you  open  your  eyes  some  sunny  Janu- 
ary morning  and  for  the  first  time  see  through  your 
Pullman  window,  in  a  setting  of  majestic  mountains 
lifting  snowy  summits  to  a  turquoise  sky,  the  palms 
and  roses  and  glistening  orange  groves  of  Southern 
California.  Around  ranch-house  and  town-dwelling 
alike,  garden  flowers  clamber  and  nestle.  Calen- 
dulas, sweet  peas  and  pansies,  petunias,  violets  and 
marguerites,  geraniums  of  many  colors  banked  some- 
times house-high,  are  commonplaces  of  the  humblest 
home;  callas,  in  places,  grow  literally  as  hedges; 
carnations  and  violets  bloom  by  the  fieldful  for  the 
cut-flower  market.  If  the  season  is  of  average 
mildness,  fuchsias  and  heliotropes  hide  beneath 
their  massed  bloom  the  cottage  walls  against  which 

256 


IN  CALIFORNIA  257 

they  are  set  and  even  look  into  second-story  win- 
dows ;  poinsettias,  in  vivid  scarlet,  glow  under  south 
eaves;  and  roses  of  every  hue  brighten  hedge-rows 
and  fences  and  even  nod  jauntily  down  from  tree 
tops.  Naturally,  then,  when  you  are  at  last  settled 
in  California  your  thoughts  turn  much  to  gardens. 

For  the  making  of  a  garden  the  Californian  has 
practically  the  whole  world  to  draw  upon.  Indeed, 
so  inclusive  is  the  hospitality  of  the  State 's  climate, 
that  the  supreme  temptation  is  to  plant  something 
of  everything  on  earth  and  to  turn  one's  place  into 
a  botanic  museum.  This  may  be  poor  landscape 
gardening,  but  to  the  new-comer  it  means  a  lot  of 
enjoyment  and  some  education;  and  there  is  a  con- 
siderable preponderance  of  such  medleyed  horticul- 
ture up  and  down  the  State,  prosecuted  without  plan 
and  as  personal  fancy  and  the  generosity  of  flower- 
loving  neighbors  with  cuttings  to  give  away  have 
dictated.  This  is,  I  think,  a  weak  spot  in  California 
gardening,  and  the  artist  of  our  family  touched  upon 
it  to  the  Professor  one  day : 

' '  Oh,  I  think  the  flowers  here  are  perfectly  beauti- 
ful, marvelous  in  growth  and  variety;  but  do  you 
think  the  people  always  understand  the  harmony  of 
arrangement  so  as  to  bring  out  the  beauty  as  it  de- 
serves? The  purple  bougainvillea  is  simply  a  regal 
bloomer,  but  you  find  it  everywhere — flowering  furi- 


258       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

ously  on  house-roofs  and  pergolas  and  chicken-cor- 
rals; while  cheek  by  jowl  with  it,  as  likely  as  not, 
are  orange-yellow  bignonias  and  scarlet  tecomas. 
And  then,  because  red  geraniums  and  yellow  Cali- 
fornia poppies  can't  help  blooming  riotously  in  this 
glorious  sunshine,  why  let  them  kill  each  other  by 
setting  them  side  by  side?" 

"Yes,  I  guess  we're  guilty,"  apologized  the  Pro- 
fessor, "but  what's  the  wild  West  without  a  bit  of 
killing  in  it?  We're  young  yet;  soon  enough,  we'll 
settle  down  to  the  proprieties — meantime,  we  enjoy 
color." 

To  the  average  eye,  it  must  be  owned,  this  ten- 
dency to  floral  coloratura  is  a  venial  matter,  and  is 
forgotten  in  the  delight  of  discovery  afforded  by  the 
vast  variety  of  exotic  shrubs  and  flowers  that  are  in 
common  outdoor  cultivation  on  the  Coast.  Of 
course  many  people  faithfully  keep  up  the  traditions 
of  the  Eastern  home  with  such  old-fashioned  favor- 
ites as  lilacs,  spiraeas,  weigelias,  abutilons,  nastur- 
tiums, verbenas,  zinnias,  marigolds,  hollyhocks,  and 
so  on ;  and  everybody  of  course  grows  the  rose  in  its 
manifold  varieties — that  universal  flower  which  has 
girdled  the  world  as  with  a  garland  of  love.  All 
gardens  have  a  sprinkling  of  these;  but  what  gives 
distinctiveness  to  the  California  gardens  are  the 
tropic  and  semi-tropic  plants  which  are  unknown  in 


IN  CALIFORNIA  259 

the  East,  or  at  least  cultivated  only  in  conserva- 
tories. Besides  the  yuccas  and  acacias,  bamboos, 
palms  and  agaves,  which  are  easily  recognized  by 
every  one,  there  are  in  every  community  where  the 
sentiment  for  flowers  runs  strong,  scores  of  strik- 
ingly beautiful  shrubs,  vines  and  herbs  that  are  ab- 
solutely novel  to  the  tourist.  It  is  a  humiliating 
fact,  though,  that  too  few  of  the  owners  of  these 
exotic  plants  can  tell  you  their  names.  They  have 
generally  been  had  from  nurserymen  in  response  to 
orders  for  "pretty  flowers  and  shrubs  with  beauti- 
ful foliage  that  will  be  drought  resistant  and  not 
mind  some  frost."  They  have  come  to  hand  duly 
labeled;  but  the  name  being  in  Latin,  always  unin- 
telligible and  often  unpronounceable,  has  not  inter- 
ested the  purchaser,  who  has  soon  forgotten  it,  and 
Time's  effacing  fingers  have  not  been  slow  to  take 
care  of  the  label.  By  and  by  such  plants,  which  are 
gradually  becoming  established  factors  in  Cali- 
fornia gardens,  will  doubtless  acquire  folk  names, 
even  if  the  botanic  appellations  are  not  popularized. 
A  case  in  point  is  the  beautiful  Mexican  bush 
with  three-fingered  leaves,  Choisya  ternata,  which  is 
now  sometimes  known  as  Mexican  orange-flower,  the 
white,  fragrant  blossoms  somewhat  resembling 
those  of  the  orange  to  which  it  is  in  fact  related. 
Another  is  the  curious  Australian  shrub,  Calliste- 


260       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

mon  lanceolatus.  This  bears  every  spring  at  the 
ends  of  its  drooping  branches  cylindrical  clusters 
of  crimson  flowers  with  bristling  stamens  which 
standing  out  all  around  the  branch  so  exactly  re- 
semble a  bottle-brush  that  bottle-brush  the  plant  is 
called.  The  seed-vessels  on  this  odd  shrub  resem- 
ble gray  shoe-buttons  and  persist  for  years  in  an 
elongated  band  completely  encircling  the  branch, 
each  band  separated  from  the  other  by  a  year's 
growth  of  stem.  More  common  than  either  of  these 
are  three  or  four  species  of  the  genus  Pittosporum, 
universally  mispronounced  by  nurserymen  who  ac- 
cent the  penult  while  correct  usage  favors  the  ante- 
penult. One  species — Pittosporum  tobira — is  from 
China,  and  the  others  are  Australasian.  As  all  are 
evergreen  with  leaves  more  or  less  simulating  laurel, 
the  Australians  call  them  hedge-laurel,  Queensland 
laurel,  Brisbane  laurel,  etc.  They  are  badly  in  need 
of  some  common  name  in  California,  as  an  alternate 
to  the  cacophonous  botanical  one.  Perhaps  hedge- 
laurel  would  be  worth  adopting,  as  at  least  two  spe- 
cies— P.  eugenioides  and  undulatum — have  been 
planted  in  California  for  hedges.  Some  of  the  spe- 
cies grow  to  the  proportions  of  a  tree,  and  their 
lively,  handsome  foliage,  fragrant  flowers  and 
drought-resistant  character  put  them  among  the 


IN  CALIFORNIA  261 

most  desirable  of  woody  plants  for  California  gar- 
dens. 

When  foliage  effect  is  desired,  a  shrub  often 
planted  is  the  New  Zealand  Coprosma  Baueri, 
which  has  the  advantage  of  a  pleasant-sounding 
name.  The  flowers  are  inconspicuous  and  the  fea- 
tures that  commend  it  for  culture  are  its  graceful, 
trailing  habit  of  growth  and  the  rich,  glossy  hue  of 
the  foliage  which  seems  as  though  varnished. 
Often  its  exquisite  green  is  blotched  with  white  or 
yellow,  and  a  form  entirely  yellow  is  met  with. 
The  compelling  beauty  of  pure  foliage  is  never  bet- 
ter shown  than  in  this  lovely  plant  as  it  flows  over 
some  boulder-planted  slope,  or  rolls  its  billowy  green 
in  soft  masses  into  house  corners  or  against  garden 
walls.  Attractive  for  its  foliage,  too,  but  very  dif- 
ferent, is  a  native  barberry — Berberis  aquifolium — 
whose  holly-like  leafage  in  this  holly-less  land,  is  a 
cheerful  sight.  In  autumn  the  little  shrub  is 
adorned  with  strings  of  purple  berries,  somewhat  like 
chicken  grapes,  which  have  suggested  the  popular 
name  Oregon  grape — Oregon,  because  of  the  plant's 
abundance  in  that  State,  where  it  has  been  adopted 
as  the  floral  emblem  of  the  Commonwealth.  A  spe- 
cies of  viburnum  that  is  grown  to  some  extent  in 
eastern  greenhouses  may  also  be  mentioned  be- 


262       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

cause  it  is  perhaps  the  best  known  of  California 
garden  shrubs,  where  besides  posing  for  ornament 
it  is  frequently  put  to  utilitarian  service  as  a  hedge 
plant.  Its  ample  cymes  of  small  pinkish  white 
flowers  are  very  attractive.  In  modern  botanical 
parlance  it  is  Viburnum  Tinus,  but  in  everyday 
speech  it  is  called  laurustinus.  A  plant  of  all-round 
virtue,  beautiful  in  leaf,  flower  and  fruit,  it  is  espe- 
cially serviceable  because  evergreen  and  winter 
blooming,  besides  lending  itself  with  the  utmost 
complaisance  to  topiary  work.  Its  native  home  is 
the  Mediterranean  region  of  Europe  where  it  some- 
times forms  extensive  copses  in  the  wild,  and  where 
it  has  been  cherished  from  time  immemorial.  Its 
common  name  is  the  running  together  of  two  Latin 
words,  laurus  and  tinus,  laurus  because  early  bot- 
anists thought  it  to  be  a  kind  of  laurel  (which  it  is 
not),  and  tinus  because  it  has  been  believed  to  be 
the  plant  which  Pliny  several  times,  and  Ovid  at 
least  once,  referred  to  under  that  name.  In  the 
tenth  book  of  "The  Metamorphoses"  the  poet  de- 
scribes Orpheus  seated  upon  a  grassy  hill,  touching 
his  lyre,  and  as  he  plays  he  attracts  to  him  the  very 
rocks  and  trees  and  among  these  is  "tinus  with 
azure  berries."  So  in  a  twinkling  does  the  pretty 
plant  whisk  us  out  of  this  twentieth-century  Cali- 
fornia with  its  insane  craze  for  motor-cars  and 


IN  CALIFORNIA  263 

speed  and  real-estate  booming,  and  drop  us  back  in 
leisurely  old  Greece,  while  the  world  was  still  young 
and  gods  and  half-gods  fellowshiped  with  men. 

Among  garden  flowers  few  have  more  completely 
captured  the  popular  fancy  in  Southern  California 
than  the  poinsettia,  which  every  one  in  the  East 
knows  as  a  green-house  beauty.  In  California  it 
grows  in  the  open  almost  rivaling  the  poppy  in  the 
affection  of  the  people,  and  one  sees  it  everywhere  in 
stately  erectness  against  bungalow  and  villa  walls. 
Its  susceptibility  to  frost  finds  it  on  the  anxious 
bench  every  winter,  but  the  leaves  fall  more  quickly 
than  the  floral  parts,  which  in  cold  seasons  are  not 
infrequently  seen  shivering  chillily  at  the  tops  of 
leafless  stalks.  Prudent  gardeners  set  it  in  the  least 
exposed  places,  usually  against  south  walls,  or  in 
sheltered  bays,  where  from  December  to  April  it 
flames  fierily.  Under  favorable  circumstances  the 
plant  has  been  known  to  develop  heads  two  feet  in 
diameter.  Its  name  preserves  the  memory  of  a  dis- 
tinguished American  statesman,  Joel  Eoberts  Poin- 
sett,  who  served  his  country  worthily  and  was  Secre- 
tary of  "War  under  President  Van  Buren.  Previ- 
ously, from  1825  to  1829,  he  was  United  States 
minister  to  Mexico,  where  he  discovered  the  flower. 
He  seems  to  have  propagated  it  on  his  grounds  at 
Charleston,  South  Carolina,  and  about  1833  sold 


264       WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

plants  to  Eobert  Buist,  an  old  time  Scotch  nursery- 
man of  Philadelphia.  Buist  called  it  Euphorbia 
Poinsettiana,  and  introduced  it  into  Europe.  There 
another  Scotchman  Kobert  Graham,  a  botanist  of 
Glasgow,  saw  it  and  believing  it  to  be  a  new  genus, 
rechristened  it,  to  Buist 's  great  vexation,  Poin- 
settia  pulcherrima.  Later  botanists  have  confirmed 
Buist 's  determination  and  reinstated  it  in  the  genus 
Euphorbia,  but  retaining  Graham's  specific  name, 
call  it  Euphorbia  pulcherrima.  Its  glorious  scarlet- 
bracted  flowers  are  an  important  element  in  the 
decoration  of  churches  at  Christmas  and  Easter,  for 
which  reason  it  has  been  called  Christmas  flower 
and  Easter  flower — a  translation  of  the  appellation 
by  which  it  goes  in  Mexico,  la  flor  de  Pascua.  The 
non-botanical  may  be  reminded  that  the  flaming  in- 
volucre that  has  gained  the  plant  its  popularity,  is 
no  part  of  the  blossom,  but  simply  a  whorl  of  colored 
leaves.  The  flowers  occupy  a  small  space  at  the 
point  of  union  of  these  leaves.  They  are  brilliant, 
too,  in  red  and  gold  but  more  curious  than  beautiful 
and  relatively  inconspicuc-us. 

Of  a  somewhat  similar  method  of  inflorescence  are 
the  Bougainvilleas,  whose  intense  magenta  or  red- 
dish masses  of  color  are  due  not  to  the  flowers,  which 
none  but  the  curious  ever  notice,  but  to  the 
brilliant-hued  bracts  that  envelop  the  flowers. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  265 

These  vines,  which  clamber  over  half  the  summer 
houses  and  pergolas  of  Southern  California,  com- 
memorate in  their  rather  formidable  name,  one 
Louis  Antoine  de  Bougainville,  a  French  soldier  and 
sailor  of  distinction  in  the  service  of  Louis  the  Fif- 
teenth and  Well  Beloved — King  of  France  under  Du 
Barry  and  Pompadour.  De  Bougainville  was  an 
aide-de-camp  of  Montcalm's  at  the  battle  of  Quebec, 
and  a  gentleman  of  cultivated  taste.  Later  as  com- 
mander of  a  French  frigate  with  a  transport  to  bear 
it  company,  he  circumnavigated  the  globe  in  leis- 
urely fashion,  taking  three  years  to  the  trip 
(1766-69)  and  was  the  first  French  navigator  to  per- 
form the  feat.  He  made  extensive  explorations  in 
the  South  Pacific,  a  description  of  which  may  be 
read  in  his  entertaining  "  Voyage  autour  du  Monde" 
published  in  Paris  in  1771.  The  species  of  Bou- 
gainvillea  in  cultivation  are  natives  of  tropical  and 
sub-tropical  parts  of  eastern  South  America,  nota- 
bly Brazil,  from  which  country  the  species  most 
usually  cultivated  have  come.  De  Bougainville  in 
his  voyage  touched  at  Buenos  Ayres,  but  his  floral 
namesake  seems  not  to  have  been  introduced  into 
Europe  until  about  sixty  years  later. 

One  is  not  long  among  California  gardens  before 
making  acquaintance  with  those  curious  floral 
groundlings  the  mesembryanthemums.  They  are 


266      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

creeping  fleshy-leaved  plants,  whose  daisy-like  blos- 
soms with  very  numerous  narrow  petals  yellow, 
white,  and  of  various  shades  of  red,  open  only  in 
the  sun — the  reason  of  the  sesquipedalian  name, 
which  means  *  *  flower  of  the  midday. ' '  They  are  par- 
ticularly liked  as  coverings  to  sunny  banks  and  slopes 
which  they  overspread  with  beauty  at  practically 
no  expense  of  care  after  becoming  rooted,  as  their 
succulent  leaves  and  stems  make  them  famous 
drought  resisters.  Every  one  who  has  visited  South- 
ern California  in  April  and  May  has  been  struck 
with  the  prodigal  color  of  one  small-flowered  sort, 
which  forms  carpets  of  solid  pink  in  gardens,  along 
streets,  and  particularly  on  the  hillsides  and  earth 
cliffs  of  many  of  the  beach  resorts.  There  are  in 
the  world  some  three  hundred  species  of  Mesembry- 
anthemum,  mostly  native  to  the  rocky  sands  and 
arid  plains  of  South  Africa,  but  a  few  are  indig- 
enous to  the  Mediterranean  basin  and  to  Austral- 
asia. Two  or  three  species  grow  wild  in  California, 
and  have  been  a  puzzle  to  botanists  who  have  never 
satisfactorily  accounted  for  their  presence  there. 
One  of  these  (M.  crystallmum},  which  is  found  on 
Southern  California  sea  beaches  and  strangely 
enough  at  one  or  two  places  on  the  Mojave  Desert, 
is  also  native  to  Greece  and  the  Canary  Islands.  It 
is  remarkable  for  its  glittering,  often  reddish  foli- 


IN  CALIFORNIA  267 

age  which  seems  frosted  with  particles  of  ice  and 
on  this  account  it  has  long  been  one  of  the  world's 
green-house  curiosities  under  the  name  of  ice-plant. 
In  the  Canary  Islands  the  burning  of  the  ice-plant 
and  exportation  of  the  ashes  for  use  in  Spanish 
glass  making  was  once,  and  perhaps  still  is,  a  con- 
siderable industry.  Many  species  of  Mesembryan- 
themum,  indeed,  are  noted  for  grotesqueries  of  form, 
like  the  allied  tribe  of  the  cacti,  and  also  like  the 
latter  bear  a  fruit  resembling  the  fig  that  is  in  some 
cases  palatable.  Because  of  this  fruit  and  the  com- 
positae-like  character  of  the  blossoms,  members  of 
the  genus  are  also  known  as  fig-marigolds.  These 
fruit-capsules  are  a  very  interesting  part  of  the 
plant.  They  are  tightly  closed  in  dry  weather  but 
possess  to  a  remarkable  degree  the  property  of  ab- 
sorbing moisture  from  the  air,  and  after  a  rain  they 
open  out  their  carpellary  valves,  which  radiate  from 
the  center  in  star  fashion,  and  permit  the  seeds  to 
escape.  When  the  weather  clears  they  close,  to 
gape  again  with  the  return  of  another  shower.  The 
curious  will  find  entertainment  in  soaking  mature, 
dry  capsules  in  a  basin  of  water,  and  watching  the 
starry  tops  open  out,  as  do  the  so-called  resurrec- 
tion plants,  of  the  curio-shops. 

A  denizen  of  many  California  gardens  that  is  sure 
to  attract  an  Easterner's  attention,  and  indeed  is  far 


268      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

from  familiar  to  all  Californians,  is  a  creeping  turf- 
plant  whose  botanical  name,  Lippia  repens,  is  easy 
enough  to  pronounce  to  be  popularized.  Evergreen 
of  leaf  and  taking  kindly  to  almost  any  sort  of  soil, 
it  spreads  by  rooting  at  the  joints  until  it  forms  solid 
mats  of  verdure,  even  choking  out  many  sorts  of 
weeds  that  flourish  in  grassplots.  These  are  as 
pleasant  to  walk  on  and  as  yielding  to  the  tread  as 
Turkish  carpet,  and  the  little  plant  is  as  cheerful 
under  the  pressure  of  human  feet  as  blue  grass,  or 
a  New  Mexican  Penitente  flat  on  a  church  door-step 
begging  to  be  trodden  on  for  his  sins'  sake.  Fur- 
thermore it  is  tolerant  of  neglect,  and  will  survive 
a  whole  dry  season  without  watering  or  mowing, 
though  for  the  best  effect  it  should  have  both  about 
once  a  month,  during  the  summer.  Lippia  has 
therefore  taken  an  assured  place  in  California  as  a 
substitute  for  lawn  grass  in  situations  where  the  lat- 
ter is  difficult  to  keep  up,  as  in  garden  paths  and  on 
dryish  slopes.  Under  trees  and  in  unsunned  cor- 
ners, it  has  a  tendency  to  grow  erect,  and  I  know  a 
garden  where  a  somewhat  shady  bench  has  been 
completely  blanketed,  legs  and  seat,  by  the  aspiring 
little  creeper  which  was  originally  set  out  as  a  turf. 
Not  the  least  interesting  feature  of  lippia  is  its 
bloom.  With  the  coming  of  warm  spring  days, 
after  an  enthusiastic  spell  of  inching  into  such  new 


IN  CALIFORNIA  269 

nooks  and  crannies  as  it  can  find — it  has  to  be 
watched  against  encroaching  on  flower  beds — the 
plant  becomes  set  with  little  purplish  knobs  of  buds, 
which  in  April  expand  into  flowers,  each  about  as 
big  as  a  large  pin.  These,  to  the  number  of  about 
a  hundred  in  a  dense  flattish  head  half  the  diameter 
of  a  dime,  are  borne  at  the  height  of  an  inch  or  so 
above  the  ground,  and  are  of  a  lilac  color  with  a 
tiny  yellow  eye.  The  lower  ring  of  blossoms  opens 
first,  and  to  watch  day  by  day  the  rising  tide  of 
bloom,  circle  upon  circle  until  the  crown  is  solid 
color,  is  like  being  a  looker-on  at  some  building 
operation  in  Lilliput.  For  weeks  a  lippia  patch  in 
spring  is  a  sheet  of  delicate  color,  where  bees  hum 
in  ecstasy  all  the  sunny  days,  to  the  great  disquiet 
of  human  trespassers  in  low  shoes,  who  fear  for 
their  unarmed  ankles.  California  owes  this  charm- 
ing plant  to  Dr.  F.  Franceschi,  of  Santa  Barbara, 
whose  enterprise  and  enthusiasm,  extended  over  a 
quarter  of  a  century  in  his  adopted  State,  have  won- 
derfully enriched  her  exotic  flora. 

His  account  of  its  introduction  into  California, 
which  occurred  about  1900,  is  interesting: 

"It  was  in  1869,  barely  one  year  before  the  fall  of 
the  second  Empire,  when  the  centennial  of  the  first 
Napoleon  was  celebrated  with  great  festivities  at  his 
birthplace,  Ajaccio,  in  Corsica.  The  Superintend- 


270      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

ent  of  Parks  of  the  city  of  Florence,  Signor  Pucci, 
to  whom  the  floral  decorations  had  been  entrusted, 
was  quite  struck  with  lippia  as  it  had  been  used  in 
the  public  garden  of  Ajaccio.  He  took  some  with 
him  to  Florence,  and  put  it  on  trial  in  one  of  the 
public  gardens.  There  it  did  so  well  that  it  soon 
spread  in  other  parts  of  Italy,  and  particularly  along 
the  Eiviera,  where  the  climatic  conditions  are  very 
much  like  Southern  California.  In  the  year  1898 
my  daughter,  who  had  recently  come  from  Italy, 
called  my  attention  to  the  fact  that  for  several  years 
lippia  had  been  used  to  carpet  the  esplanade  at  the 
Naval  Academy  at  Leghorn,  where  500  boys  had 
their  daily  drilling  and  all  sorts  of  games.  It  was 
obvious  that  if  lippia  had  done  so  well  in  Italy,  it 
ought  to  do  the  same  in  California.  From  the 
Director  of  the  Botanic  Garden  in  Eome  I  secured 
by  mail  a  small  tin  box  of  lippia  plants,  less  than 
twelve  ounces  weight.  Now  after  ten  years,  there 
are  thousands  of  acres  planted  with  lippia  between 
California,  Arizona,  Mexico  and  Australia,  and  it  all 
came  out  of  that  small  tin  box." 

Apropos  of  creeping  plants,  there  is  now  thor- 
oughly established  in  California  gardens  the  creep- 
ing fig  (Ficus  repens),  which  has  long  been  culti- 
vated in  Southern  Europe  as  well  as  in  Eastern 
conservatories,  and  is  a  native  of  Japan  and  China. 


IN  CALIFORNIA  271 

Unlike  lippia,  which  is  essentially  a  ground  dweller, 
Ficus  repens  is  a  born  climber,  and  once  started  its 
ambition  knows  no  limits.  Stone  walls  and  board 
fences,  gate  posts  and  window  boxes,  houses  of 
whatever  material  to  the  topmost  chimney  pot,  tree 
trunks  into  the  very  crown,  become  in  time  plastered 
with  the  industrious  little  vine,  whose  leathery 
leaves — a  rich  sober  green  in  age — are  in  youth  rosy 
hued  and  golden- tinged,  as  youth's  outlook  should 
be.  Altogether  it  is,  I  think,  as  charming  a  plant 
as  Dickens  thought  the  ivy  green,  and  strange  as  it 
may  seem,  it  is  really  a  fig,  near  akin  to  that  great 
tree  which  casts  protecting  arms  over  so  many  Cali- 
fornia homes.  I  never  realized  this  relationship, 
however,  until  one  day  my  eye  caught  sight  of  a 
branch  bearing  fruit,  which  is  not  often  noticed. 
It  was  in  shape  and  general  make-up  quite  like  a  fig, 
but  the  seedy  interior  lacked  the  sweet  juiciness  of 
the  edible  species. 

The  unbridled  rhetoric  of  much  of  California's 
advertising  literature  would  make  the  reader  think 
that  the  gardens  of  the  State  are  a  perpetual  riot  of 
bloom.  Having  wintered  and  summered  one  for 
several  years  and  watched  my  neighbors '  for  rather 
longer,  I  am  inclined  to  think  the  Horatian  maxim 
about  people  changing  their  sky  but  not  their  spirit, 
holds  pretty  well  for  plant  life  too.  Plants  need 


272      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

their  bit  of  rest,  even  as  you  and  I,  and  if  you  use  all 
of  California's  twelve-months-in-the-year  of  grow- 
ing weather  to  keep  them  going  all  the  time,  they  will 
sooner  or  later  play  out.  Of  course  by  proper  selec- 
tion one  will  have  something  blooming  at  all  seasons, 
but  there  is  a  low  tide  and  a  high  tide  just  as  else- 
where in  the  world.  Summer,  indeed,  with  its  en- 
tire absence  of  rainfall  is  the  natural  resting  time 
for  most  plants  on  the  Coast,  and  to  make  a  showing 
of  flowers  then  is  the  gardener 's  most  exacting  task. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  wise  ones  let  things  follow 
their  bent  and  judiciously  encourage  dormancy  in 
summer;  for  instance,  by  withholding  all  but  a 
minimum  of  water  from  roses.  With, the  coming 
of  September,  pruning,  thorough  watering  and  gen- 
eral stimulation  are  resorted  to  for  the  production 
of  those  winter  flowers  which  are  expected  by  every 
winter  visitor. 

An  overwhelming  degree  of  bloom,  however,  is  not 
to  be  counted  on  in  the  season  of  short  days  and 
occasional  frosty  mornings,  which  make  for  re- 
tarded growth.  Nevertheless,  in  gardens  every- 
where, there  is  always  a  good  winter  showing  of 
such  herbaceous  plants  as  violets,  stock,  calendulas, 
sweet  peas,  carnations,  English  daisies,  pansies, 
verbenas,  marguerites,  mignonette,  sweet  alyssum, 
and  geraniums,  and,  in  the  more  sheltered  situations 


IN  CALIFORNIA  273 

heliotrope  and  nasturtiums,  among  tenderer  sorts. 
Of  shrubs  and  vines,  I  noted  blooming  in  mid-Janu- 
ary of  the  present  year  (an  average  season)  in  the 
general  vicinity  of  Los  Angeles,  about  twenty  dif- 
ferent sorts.  No  doubt  there  were  many  more  that 
I  did  not  happen  to  see,  while  sea-coast  places  like 
San  Diego  and  Santa  Barbara,  where  more  equable 
conditions  prevail,  would  perhaps  show  even  more. 
Among  garden  shrubs  that  caught  my  eye  were — 
not  to  speak  of  roses — the  showy  Choisya  ternata 
and  abutilon,  Aloe  arboreus  with  scarlet  racemes 
erect  like  glowing  pokers,  and  the  camellia's  ex- 
quisite waxen  roses  in  red  and  white ;  the  New  Zea- 
land veronica  with  blue,  bristly  spikes,  the  fragrant 
daphne  of  Japan  (a  large  bush  in  many  gardens) ; 
the  Formosan  rice-paper  plant  (Fatsia  papyrifera), 
with  its  tropical  foliage  and  creamy  white  flower 
panicles ;  and  Oestrum  elegans  with  its  slender  fun- 
nels of  bloom  in  drooping  magenta  clusters.  The 
orange  trumpets  of  Bignonia  venusta  fringed  some 
bungalow-eaves  and  pergola  beams,  and  scarlet 
tecomas  and  Bougainvilleas  of  various  hues  twined 
themselves  over  others.  Arbutus  unedo,  the  Euro- 
pean strawberry  tree,  was  in  certain  gardens  a  little 
show  to  itself,  the  same  individual  bearing  flowers, 
green  fruit,  and  red  mature  "strawberries."  The 
berries,  by  the  way,  though  very  ornamental,  are  a 


274      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

disappointment  as  an  article  of  diet,  for  they  are 
rather  dry  and  chaffy,  though  edible,  and  the  early 
birds  usually  consume  them  before  a  man  gets  out 
in  his  garden  of  a  morning.  The  white  flowers,  in 
shape  like  tiny  urns,  are  very  pretty  in  the  eyes  of 
every  one  who  appreciates  the  day  of  floral  small 
things. 

After  all  is  said,  however,  it  is  the  spring  that 
brings  to  California  as  elsewhere  the  culmination 
of  garden  bloom.  This  may  be  as  early  as  March, 
but  usually  the  crest  of  this  wonderful  floral  wave 
breaks  on  the  Coast  in  April.  Then  come  the  per- 
fect days  of  the  year.  The  heavy  rains  are  over; 
the  lengthening  days  are  filled  with  sunshine,  some- 
times after  a  night  of  showers  or  of  drenching  fog 
that  makes  the  face  of  the  garden  glisten  like  the 
wet  face  of  love.  Then  the  air  is  sweet  with 
fragrance  of  orange  blossoms  and  freesias  and 
bursting  honeysuckle,  musical  with  songs  of  mead- 
ow-larks and  mockers  and  the  ubiquitous  but  un- 
friended linnets.  Miles  of  Cherokee  roses,  white 
and  pink  in  hedge-rows,  line  country  roads  and  di- 
vide town  lots  like  snow  banks;  wistarias  equally 
prodigal  of  blossom — here  white,  there  lavender — 
mass  themselves  over  arbors,  festoon  themselves 
along  fences  and  clamber  far  up  into  tree  tops  to  be 
caught  there  in  mid-air  in  arrested  cascades.  Jas- 


IN  CALIFORNIA  275 

mine  pours  its  liquid  gold  over  roofs  and  gateways. 
Banksia  roses,  white  and  buff,  and  coppery  Gold  of 
Ophir,  snowy  Lamarcks  and  Beve  d'  Or  in  apricot 
yellow,  rise  everywhere  in  fountains  of  color  that 
not  infrequently  bury  whole  houses  beneath  the  in- 
credible lavishness  of  their  bloom.  In  cholos'  cot- 
tage-gardens and  on  millionaires'  estates,  in  the 
strips  of  parkings  that  line  the  residential  streets 
of  cities  between  curb  and  sidewalk,  on  wayside 
country  banks  and  by  ranchers'  gates,  bedding 
plants  of  every  known  sort — often  self  seeded — 
blaze  in  colorful  masses — gazanias  and  verbenas  in 
lakes  of  vivid  orange,  red,  pink  and  white;  meseni- 
bryanthemums  dripping  crimson  and  yellow  from 
bank  and  wall;  airy  Spanish  iris  and  the  blue  and 
white  flags  of  the  old  home;  petunias,  nasturtiums 
dwarf  and  giant,  pansies  by  the  million;  Shasta 
daisies  as  big  as  saucers,  gaillardias,  dazzling 
patches  of  eschscholtzias,  geraniums  climbing  up 
palm  trunks  and  house  walls ;  poppies  of  every  sort, 
snowy  borders  of  sweet  alyssum,  and  roses,  roses, 
roses. 

Yes,  if  you  want  to  see  the  gardens  of  California 
at  their  flowery  best,  to  say  nothing  of  the  wonder- 
ful wild  gardens  that  Nature  alone  tends,  the  spring 
is  the  season  of  all  that  you  should  not  miss. 

"A  California  spring  may  not  be  absolutely  per- 


276      WITH  THE  FLOWERS  AND  TREES 

feet,"  remarked  the  Professor  with  an  acquiesce- 
if-you-dare  sort  of  look  in  his  eye,  "but  this  side  of 
heaven,  my  boy,  it's  the  best  there  is,  and  romance 
as  you  will,  you  can't  come  up  to  the  truth  about  it." 


THE   END 


VAJL-BALLOU   CO.,    BINGHAMTON    AND    NEW   YORK 


INDEX 


INDEX 


(Words  italicized  are  Spanish-Californian  or  Mexican.) 
Aaronsohn,    Doctor    Aaron,     Aspidium  rigidum  argutum, 


quoted,  228. 
Abies   venusta,   209. 
Abronia  umbellata,  10. 
Acacia  Farnesiana,  201. 

melanoxylon,  42. 
Acacias,  41-43. 
Acer  macrophyllum,  206. 
Acorns,  as  food,  128-130. 
Adenostoma,  110. 
Adiantum   Capillus-Veneris, 
169. 

emarginatnm,  173. 

pedatum,  169,  173. 
Agave,  138,  148. 
Ajedrea,  191. 
Alelilla,   187. 
Alfalfa,  57. 
Alfilerilla,  55. 
Almonds,  231. 
Aloe  arboreus,  273. 
Alyssum,  sweet,  62. 
Amole,  122,  124. 
Anemopsis  Californica,  142. 
Anis  hinojo,  62. 
Anise,  sweet,  61. 
Apocynum  cannabinum,  148. 
Apricots,  230. 
Araucarias,  48-50. 
Arbol  de  incienso,  209. 
Arbutus  Menziesii,  215. 

Unedo,  215,  273. 
Argemone  platyceras,  108. 


279 


179. 
Asplenium     Filix  -  f  oemina, 

169. 

Audibertia  Cleveland!,  4. 
Avena  fatua,  53. 

Baby-blue-eyes,  15,  100. 

Baeria,  97. 

Bard,    Doctor    Cephas    L., 

quoted,  135,  136. 
Barra  de  San  Jose,  la,  189. 
Basketry,  Indian,  plants  of, 

149-152,  173. 
Bee  pasture,  116. 

ranchers,  119. 
Beefwood,  44. 
Berberis  aquifolium,  261. 
Bidwell,  General  John,  161, 

237. 

Bignonia  venusta,  273. 
Big  Tree,  158. 
Bisnaga,  80. 
Bitter-bark,  140. 
Blochman,   Ida  M.,  quoted, 

180. 
Blossom   Day,   Santa   Clara 

Valley,  250. 
Bottle-bush,  260. 
Bottle-tree,  46. 
Bougainville,  Louis  Antoine 

de,  265. 
Bougainvillea,  264. 


280 


INDEX 


Bowman,  Mary  M.,  quoted, 

33. 

Bracken,  170. 
Brassica,  57. 
Brevootia  Ida-Maia,  95. 
Brodiaea  capitata,  94. 

coccinea,  94. 
Brodiaeas,  93,  94,  132. 
Brown,  Owen,  grave  of,  120. 
Buena  moza,  65. 
Bunya-bunya,  48. 
Bur-clover,  56. 


Cabrillo,  Juan  Rodriguez,  2. 
Cactus,  7,  79,  81,  137,  201, 

235. 

Calandrinia  Menziesii,  91. 
Callas,  188. 

Callistemon  lanceolatus,  259. 
Calochortus,  97,  100,  131. 
Camphor  tree,  45. 
Canchalagua,  143. 
Candlewood,  83. 
Canutillo,  143. 
Capillaire,  181. 
Caracol,  194. 
Carob-tree,  241. 
Castilleia,  99. 
Castor-oil  plant,  63. 
Casuarina  quadrivalvis,  44. 
Ceanothus,  110. 
Cedars,  deodar,  47. 
Cephalanthera  Oregana,  222. 
Ceratonia  siliqua,  241. 
Cestrum  elegans,  273. 
Chamaebatia  foliolosa,  218. 
Chamaerops  excelsa,  28. 
Chamisal,  110. 
Chamiso,  110. 


Chamisso,  Adalbert  von,  105, 

178. 

Chaparral,  109,  110. 
Chaparro,  110. 
Chase,  J.  Smeaton,  quoted, 

71,  205. 
Cheilanthes  amoena,  177. 

Californica,  178. 

fibrillosa,  177. 

Parishii,  176. 

viscida,  174. 
Chenopodium  Californicum, 

123. 

Cherry,  wild,  112. 
Chesnut,  V.  K.,  quoted,  92, 
115,  116,  170,  173,  180, 
216. 

Ckia,  134. 
Chicalote,  108. 
Chihuahua  grass,  143. 
Chili-cojote,  123. 
Chilopsis  saligna,  72. 
Chinquapin,  206. 
Chlorogalum  pomeridianum, 

122. 

Choisya  ternata,  259,  273. 
Christmas  berry,  111. 

flower,  264. 
Chrysanthemums  in  Spanish 

gardens,  190. 
Clover,  Bur,  56. 

Owl's,  99. 
Cocos  plumosa,  29. 
Coffee  berry,  140. 
Collignon,   first   botanist  in 

California,  9. 
Copa  de  oro,  107. 
Coprosma  Baueri,  261. 
Corneta,  188. 
Cordyline,  29. 


INDEX 


281 


Costanso,  Miguel,  5, 134. 
Coulter,  Doctor  Thomas,  108, 

209. 

Cream-cups,  108. 
Creosote-bush,  144. 
Crespi,  Padre,  5,  215. 
Cress,  water,  first  mentioned, 

6. 

Cupressus  macrocarpa,  210. 
Cyclamen,  wild,  92. 
Cypress,  Monterey,  210. 

Dalea  spinosa,  75. 

Dana,  Richard  Henry,  19. 

Daphne,  273. 

Darlingtonia  Californica, 
224. 

Date-palms,  29,  242;  old 
trees  at  Missions,  196. 

Datura  meteloides,  145. 

Davy,  J.  Burtt,  quoted,  62. 

Delphinium  cardinale,  117. 

Dendromecon  rigidum,  108. 

Dentaria,  91. 

Deodar,  47. 

Desert,  ferns  of,  174;  flow- 
ers of,  81. 

Desert  tea,  143. 

Dicentra,  golden,  117. 

Dodocatheon,  92. 

Dormidera,  107,  190. 

Douglas,  David,  14,  155. 

Douglas  Fir,  18,  157. 

Dracaenas,  29. 

Drake,  Sir  Francis,  2. 


Easter  flower,  264. 
Eastward,     Alice,     quoted, 
205. 


Echinocactus     cylindraceus, 

80. 

Elm,  California  slippery,  24. 
Encina,  encino,  11. 
Ephedra,  144. 
Epicampes  rigens,  150. 
Epipactis  gigantea,  87. 
Eriodictyon,  141. 
Erodium  cicutarium,  22,  55. 
Erythraea  venusta,  143. 
Eschscholz,    Doctor   Johann 

Friedrich,  105. 
Eschscholtzia       Californica, 

102,  106. 
minutiflora,  85. 
Espuela  de  caballero,  190. 
EscoUta,  99. 
Eucalypts,  35-41. 
Eytel,  Carl,  70. 


Fatsia  papyrifera,  273. 

Fennel,  61. 

Fern,  bird's  foot,  181. 

Chamisso  's  shield,  179. 

chain,  173. 

coffee,  181. 

cotton,  175. 

gold-back,  182. 

lace,  178. 

lady,  169. 

lip,  174,  178. 

maidenhair,  169,  173. 

silver-back,  182. 

sword,  155,  178. 
Ferns,  168. 

of  the  desert,  174-177. 
"Fernseed,"  171. 
Fiber  plants,  Indian,  148. 
Ficus  repens,  270. 


282 


INDEX 


Fig,  236. 
,     Indian,  201. 

Filaree,  22,  55. 

Fir,  Douglas,  18. 
Santa  Lucia,  209. 

Fire-cracker  flower,  94. 

Flame  tree,  Australian,  47. 

Flor  de  Pascua,  264. 

Flor  de  San  Jose,  189. 

Floral     manuals     of     Cali- 
fornia, 205. 

Foeniculum  vulgare,  61. 

Foxtail  grass,  55. 

Franceschi,  Doctor  F.,  quot- 
ed, 269. 

Fremont,    John    C.,    21-25, 
161,  199. 

Fremontia  Californica,  25. 

Fruit-raising,  old  time  vicis- 
situdes of,  254. 


Garces,  Padre,  78. 
Gardens,  Mission,  195. 
old      Spanish  -  California, 

186,  239. 

present-day,  California,  in 
winter,  272;  in  spring, 
274. 

distinctive  character,  258. 
Rancho,  193. 
Ghost  flower,  222. 
Gilia,  Californica,  96. 

dianthoides,  95. 
Gilias,  83,  96, 100. 
Golden-top,  63. 
Golondrina,  147. 
Gooseberry,  fuchsia-flowered, 

15,  91. 
Granada,  239. 


Grapes,  California,  200,  232. 

wild,  5,  6. 
Gray,   Doctor   Asa,  quoted, 

32,  84,  204. 
Grevillea  robusta,  43. 
Gum  tree,   Australian    (see 

Eucalypts) . 
Gymnogramma  triangularis, 

182. 

Haenke,  Thaddeus,  11,  155. 

Hall,  Doctor  Harvey  M., 
quoted,  184,  205. 

Hawver,  Mary  E.  Parsons, 
quoted,  205. 

Hedeondia,  145. 

Heliotrope,  wild,  96. 

Hemizonia,  219. 

Hemp,  Indian,  148. 

Herbs,  kitchen  and  medici- 
nal in  Spanish-Califor- 
nia gardens,  190. 

Heteromeles  arbutifolia,  111. 

Higuerilla,  64. 

Holly,  California,  111. 

Hollyhock,  189. 

Hordeum  murinum,  55. 

Horehound,  59. 

Huckleberry,  wild,  154. 

Humming-bird 's  Dinner 
Horn,  117. 

Hutchings,  James  M.,  quot- 
ed, 161. 

Hyacinth,  California,  94. 

Ice  plant,  267. 

Indians,  California,  native 
foods,  115,  125;  why 
"Diggers,"  130;  medi- 
cinal plants,  139;  fiber 


INDEX 


283 


plants,    148 ;    basketry, 

149-152. 

Indigo  bush,  75. 
Islay,  113. 

Jacaranda,  45. 

Jepson,  Doctor  W.  L.,  quot- 
ed, 10,  156,  158,  165, 
205. 

Joshua  tree,  69. 

Juisache,  201. 

Juncus  robustus,  150. 

Kellogg,  Doctor  Albert,  128. 
Kotzebue,  Otto  von,  105. 

Lamarkia  aurea,  63. 
Langsdorff,  Georg  Heinrich 

von,  105. 

Larrea  Mexicana,  144. 
Laurel,  190. 

Laurel,  Australian,  260. 
Laurel,  California,  216. 
Laurel  silvestre,  216. 
Laurustinus,  262. 
Lavatera        assurgentiflora, 

187. 
Lemonade     berry,     Indian, 

114. 

Lichens  on  oaks,  208. 
Lilac,  California,  110, 120. 
Lilies   in   Spanish   gardens, 

188,  189. 

Lippia  repens,  268. 
Lino,  189. 
Lobb,  William,  162. 
Lord's  Candle,  Our,  119. 
Lummis,  Charles  F.,  quoted, 

32,  65. 
Lupines,  giant,  22. 


Madia  elegans,  219. 

Madrono,  213. 

Malaspina,  Alejandro,  11. 

Malva  rosa,  187. 

Malvas,  187. 

"Man  of  Grass, "18. 

Manzanita,  22,  114,  116. 

Maple,  Big-leaf,  206. 

Mariposa  tulips  (lilies),  97, 
100, 131. 

Maybush,  California,  112. 

Medicago  denticulata,  56. 

Meehan,  Thomas,  quoted,  94, 
101,  224. 

Menzies,  Archibald,  11,  49, 
155,  215. 

Mescal,  137. 

Mesembryanthemum,  265- 
267. 

Mesquit,  70,  76. 
screw,  78. 

Mimulus,  117. 

Missions,  Franciscan,  195 ; 
San  Diego,  195-6,  200; 
San  Luis  Key,  32;  San 
Juan  Capistrano,  62 ; 
San  Gabriel,  202;  San 
Fernando,  196,  200 ;  San 
Buenventura,  196-7  ; 
Santa  Barbara,  199 ; 
Carmelo,  200 ;  San  Juan 
Bautista,  200 ;  Santa 
Clara,  197,  200;  San 
Jose,  200. 

Monkey-flowers,  117. 

Monkey-puzzle,  49. 

Mosquito-bill,  92. 

Mountain  misery,  218. 

Musk  plant,  117. 

Mustard,  wild,  57. 


INDEX 


Myrtle,  California,  110. 

Nasturtium,  190. 
Nee,  Luis,  106,  208. 
Nemophila  insignis,  15,  100. 
Nicotiana  glauca,  64. 
Notholaena  cretacea,  174. 

Parryi,  174,  175. 
Nuttall,  Thomas,  19. 
Nuttallia  cerasiformis,  20. 


Oak,  black,  128. 
coast  live-,  8,  11. 
silk,  43. 
she-,  44. 
valley,  11,  129. 

Oaks,  California,  207;  pio- 
neers' interest  in,  12, 
22;  first  described,  11, 
208. 

Oats,  wild,  53, 133. 

Ocote,  84. 

Ocotilla,  83. 

Octubres,  190. 

Oenothera,  97. 

Oleander,  190. 

Olive,  200,  235. 

Onion,  wild,  94. 

Oreja  de  liebre,  191. 

Opoponax,  201. 

Opuntia  Ficus-Indica,  201. 
Tuna,  201. 

Orange-flower,  Mexican,  259. 

Orange  groves,  blooming  of, 
247. 

Orchards,  blooming  of,  246. 

Oregon  grape,  261. 

Orthocarpus  purpurascens, 
98. 


0  'Sullivan,  Father  St.  John, 

quoted,  62,  240. 
Oxalis,  wild,  154. 


Paintbrush,  Indian,  99. 
Palestine,  California 's  physi- 

ographical    resemblance 

to,  228. 

Palma  Christi,  64. 
Palm,   California  Fan-,  27, 

86. 

Canary  Island,  29. 
date-,  29,  242. 
windmill,  28. 
Palms,    27;    blooming    and 

fruiting  of,  30. 
Palm  Springs,  71, 175. 
Palo  verde,  73,  74. 
Panicum  Urvilleanum,  136. 
Pansy,  wild,  93. 
Papyrus  antiquorum,  242. 
Parish,  S.  B.,  quoted,  60,  63, 

88,  184. 

Parkinsonia  Torreyana,  74. 
Parsons,     Mary     Elizabeth, 

quoted,  118. 
Pears,  Mission,  200. 
P  e  1 1  a  e  a  andromedaefolia, 

182. 

ornithopus,  182. 
Penstemon   centranthifolius, 

117. 

Peony,  wild,  91. 
Pepper  tree,  30-34. 
Pepperwood,  216. 
Perul,  33. 

Perouse,  Count  de  la,  9. 
Phacelia,  96,  100. 
Phaseolus  Caracalla,  194. 


INDEX 


285 


Phoenix  Canariensis,  29. 

dactylifera,  29,  242. 
Pimpernel,  scarlet,  63. 
Pine,  "Digger,"  126;  Nor- 
folk Island,  48;  sugar, 
16,  17 ;  Torrey,  211. 
Pine-nuts,  126. 
Pingrass,  55. 
Pinole,  133. 
Pifions,  126. 
Pinus  monophylla,  126,  128. 

Lambertiana,  16. 

Sabiniana,  126,  128. 

Torreyana,  211. 
Pitcher     plant,     California, 

224. 

Pittosporum,  260. 
Platystemon       Californicus, 

108. 

Poinsett,  Joel  Roberts,  263. 
Poinsettia,  263. 
Polypodium      Californicum, 
180. 

vulgare,  169. 
Polystichum  munitum,  155, 

179. 

Pomegranate,  239. 
Poppy,  California,  22,  102. 

Matilija,  108. 

Tree,  108. 

Portola,  Don  Gaspar,  5,  130. 
Potato,  introduced  into  Cali- 
fornia, 10. 

Potatoes,  Indian,  131,  132. 
Primrose,  desert  evening,  85. 
Prosopis  juliflora,  76. 
Pseudotsuga  Douglasii,  18. 
Pteris   aquilina   lanuginosa, 

170. 
Purdy,  Carl,  quoted,  132. 


Quercus  agrifolia,  11,  208. 
Californica,  128. 
lobata,  11, 129,  208. 

Ranches,  old  California,  193. 

Redwood,  11,  154 ;  first  men- 
tion of,  8 ;  first  scientific 
description,  155. 

Rhamnus,  141. 

Rhus  integrifolia,  113. 
ovata,  113. 
trilobata,  150. 

Ricinus  communis,  63. 

Eolle,  11. 

Romero,  4,  191. 

Romneya  Coulteri,  108. 

Rosa  de  Castilla,  186. 

Roses,  wild,  Spaniards'  de- 
light in,  5,  7. 

Ruda,  191. 

Rue,  191. 

Sage-brush  seeds,  137. 

Saint  John's  bread,  241. 

Salvia  carduacea,  136. 

Salvia  Columbariae,  134. 

Sampisuche,  190. 

Saratoga,  Blossom  Festival 
at,  251. 

Sargent,  Doctor  C.  S.,  quot- 
ed, 187. 

Sarcodes  sanguinea,  222. 

Scarlet  bugler,  117. 

Schinus  Molle,  30. 

Sequoia  gigantea,  158;  dis- 
covery, 161 ;  naming 
of  162-165;  Calaveras 
Grove,  163,  165. 

Sequoia  sempervirens,  154. 

Sequoias,  153  et  seq. 


286 


INDEX 


Seven  Palms,  86. 
Silybum  Marianum,  60. 
Simpson,    Sir   George,    197, 

199. 

Smoke  tree,  75. 
Snail  vine,  194. 
Snake  bite,  reputed  remedies 

for,  147. 
Snow  plant,  222. 
Soap-yielding  plants,  120. 
Solidago  Californica,  191. 
Song-wall,  136. 
Spring  Flowers,  the  first,  89. 
Squaw-bush,  150. 
Sterculias,  46. 
Stork's  bill,  55. 
Strawberry  tree,  215,  273. 
Sudworth,  Geo.  B.,  quoted, 

164. 

Sueda  suffrutescens,  150. 
Sumacs,  California,  113. 
Suncups,  97. 
Sycamore,  California,  7. 

Tarweeds,  217. 

Thistle,  milk  (Our  Lady's), 

60. 
Tobacco,  Indian  or  wild,  64. 

Lady's  chewing,  61. 
Tollon  (toyon),  111. 
Toluache,  145. 
Tornillo,  79. 
Toronja,  107. 
Torosa,  107. 
Torrey,    John,    quoted,    25, 

144,  212,  227. 
Tree-poppy,  108. 
Tree-yucca,  66-69. 


Tunas,  gathering,  202. 

Umbellularia,  Californica, 
216. 

Vancouver,  Captain  George, 

11, 197. 

Verbena,  sand,  10,  83. 
Viburnum  Tinus,  262. 
Vignes,  Jean  Louis,  233. 
Viola  pedunculata,  93. 
Violet,  mad,  92. 
Violets,  93,  154. 
Viscaino,  Sebastian,  3. 
Vitis  vinifera,  232. 

Wahoo,  140. 

Walnut,  California  wild,  8, 
•206. 

"Washingtonia,  27,  88. 

Wild  Flowers,  California,  in 
European  gardens,  100. 

Willow,  desert,  72. 

Wilson,  E.  H.,  quoted,  158. 

Winslow,  Doctor  C.  E.,  quot- 
ed, 163. 

Wolfskill,  William,  234. 

Wood,  Alphonzo,  94. 

Woodwardia  radicans,  170, 
173. 

Yerba,  buena,  191. 

del  golpe,  180. 

de  vibora,  147. 

mansa,  142. 

santa,  141. 
Yucca  arborescens,  66-69. 

baccata,  124. 

Whipplei,  118. 


40831 


IBRARY  FACILITY 


000  671  670     8 


